University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Purchased  as  the  gift  of 

Mr.  &  Mrs. 
Stephen  Walter 


NATURE. 


"  Nature  is  but  an  imago  or  imitation  of  wisdom,  the  last  thing 
of  the  soul;  nature  being  a  thing  which  doth  only  do,  but  not 
know." 

PLOTINUS. 


BOSTON: 

JAMES    MUNROE    AND    COMPANY. 

M  DCCC  XXXVI. 


Entered,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1836, 

By  JAMES  MUNROS  &  Co. 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of 
Massachusetts. 


Cambridge  Press : 
Metcalf,  Torry,  &,  Ballou. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


NATURE. 


COMMODITY. 


BEAUTY. 

LANGUAGE. 

DISCIPLINE. 

IDEALISM.     . 

SPIRIT. 

PROSPECTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CHAPTER  II. 
CHAPTER  III. 
CHAPTER  IV. 

CHAPTER  V. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 


15 


19 


46 


59 


76 


82 


INTRODUCTION. 


OUR  age  is  retrospective.  It  builds  the  sep 
ulchres  of  the  fathers.  It  writes  biographies, 
histories,  and  criticism.  The  foregoing  gene 
rations  beheld  God  and  nature  face  to  face ; 
we,  through  their  eyes.  Why  should  not  we 
also  enjoy  an  original  relation  to  the  universe? 
Why  should  not  we  have  a  poetry  and  philoso 
phy  of  insight  and  not  of  tradition,  and  a  relig 
ion  by  revelation  to  us,  and  not  the  history  of 
theirs  1  Embosomed  for  a  season  in  nature, 
whose  floods  of  life  stream  around  and  through 
us,  and  invite  us  by  the  powers  they  supply,  to 
action  proportioned  to  nature,  why  should  we 
grope  among  the  dry  bones  of  the  past,  or  put 
the  living  generation  into  masquerade  out  of  its 
faded  wardrobe  ?  The  sun  shines  to-day  also. 
There  is  more  wool  and  flax  in  the  fields. 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

There  are  new  lands,  new  men,  new  thoughts. 
Let  us  demand  our  own  works  and  laws  and 
worship. 

Undoubtedly  we  have  no  questions  to  ask 
which  are  unanswerable.  We  must  trust  the 
perfection  of  the  creation  so  far,  as  to  believe 
that  whatever  curiosity  the  order  of  things  has 
awakened  in  our  minds,  the  order  of  things  can 
satisfy.  Every  man's  condition  is  a  solution  in 
hieroglyphic  to  those  inquiries  he  would  put. 
He  acts  it  as  life,  before  he  apprehends  it  as 
truth.  In  like  manner,  nature  is  already,  in  its 
forms  and  tendencies,  describing  its  own  design. 
Let  us  interrogate  the  great  apparition,  that 
shines  so  peacefully  around  us.  Let  us  inquire, 
to  what  end  is  nature  1 

All  science  has  one  aim,  namely,  to  find  a 
theory  of  nature.  We  have  theories  of  races 
and  of  functions,  but  scarcely  yet  a  remote 
approximation  to  an  idea  of  creation.  We  are 
now  so  far  from  the  road  to  truth,  that  religious 
teachers  dispute  and  hate  each  other,  and 
speculative  men  are  esteemed  unsound  and 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

frivolous.  But  to  a  sound  judgment,  the  most 
abstract  truth  is  the  most  practical.  Whenever 
a  true  theory  appears,  it  will  be  its  own  evi 
dence.  Its  test  is,  that  it  will  explain  all  phe 
nomena.  Now  many  are  thought  not  only  un 
explained  but  inexplicable ;  as  language,  sleep, 
dreams,  beasts,  sex. 

Philosophically  considered,  the  universe  is 
composed  of  Nature  and  the  Soul.  Strictly 
speaking,  therefore,  all  that  is  separate  from  us, 
all  which  Philosophy  distinguishes  as  the  NOT 
ME,  that  is,  both  nature  and  art,  all  other  men 
and  my  own  body,  must  be  ranked  under  this 
name,  NATURE.  In  enumerating  the  values  of 
nature  and  casting  up  their  sum,  I  shall  use  the 
word  in  both  senses ;  —  in  its  common  and  in 
its  philosophical  import.  In  inquiries  so  gene 
ral  as  our  present  one,  the  inaccuracy  is  not 
material ;  no  confusion  of  thought  will  occur. 
Nature,  in  the  common  sense,  refers  to  essences 
unchanged  by  man ;  space,  the  air,  the  river, 
the  leaf.  Art  is  applied  to  the  mixture  of  his 
will  with  the  same  things,  as  in  a  housCj  a 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

canal,  a  statue,  a  picture.  But  his  operations 
taken  together  are  so  insignificant,  a  little  chip 
ping,  baking,  patching,  and  washing,  that  in  an 
impression  so  grand  as  that  of  the  world  on 
the  human  mind,  they  do  not  vary  the  result. 


NATURE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

To  go  into  solitude,  a  man  needs  to  retire 
as  much  from  his  chamber  as  from  society. 
I  am  not  solitary  whilst  I  read  and  write, 
though  nobody  is  with  me.  But  if  a  man  would 
be  alone,  let  him  look  at  the  stars.  The  rays 
that  come  from  those  heavenly  worlds,  will 
separate  between  him  and  vulgar  things.  One 
might  think  the  atmosphere  was  made  trans 
parent  with  this  design,  to  give  man,  in  the 
heavenly  bodies,  the  perpetual  presence  of  the 
sublime.  Seen  in  the  streets  of  cities,  how 
great  they  are  !  If  the  stars  should  appear  one 
night  in  a  thousand  years,  how  would  men 
1 


l(f  NATURE. 

believe  and  adore;  and  preserve  for  many 
generations  the  remembrance  of  the  city  of 
God  which  had  been  shown  !  But  every  night 
come  out  these  preachers  of  beauty,  and  light 
the  universe  with  their  admonishing  smile. 

The  stars  awaken  a  certain  reverence,  be 
cause  though  always  present,  they  are  always 
inaccessible ;  but  all  natural  objects  make  a 
kindred  impression,  when  the  mind  is  open  to 
their  influence.  Nature  never  wears  a  mean 
appearance.  Neither  does  the  wisest  man 
extort  all  her  secret,  and  lose  his  curiosity  by 
finding  out  all  her  perfection.  Nature  never 
became  a  toy  to  a  wise  spirit.  The  flowers, 
the  animals,  the  mountains,  reflected  all  the 
wisdom  of  his  best  hour,  as  much  as  they  had 
delighted  the  simplicity  of  his  childhood. 

When  we  speak  of  nature  in  this  manner, 
we  have  a  distinct  but  most  poetical  sense  in 
the  mind.  We  mean  the  integrity  of  impres 
sion  made  by  manifold  natural  objects.  It  is 
this  which  distinguishes  the  stick  of  timber  of 
the  wood-cutter,  from  the  tree  of  the  poet. 


NATURE.  11 

The  charming  landscape  which  I  saw  this 
morning,  is  indubitably  made  up  of  some  twenty 
or  thirty  farms.  Miller  owns  this  field,  Locke 
that,  and  Manning  the  woodland  beyond.  But 
none  of  them  owns  the  landscape.  There  is 
a  property  in  the  horizon  which  no  man  has 
but  he  whose  eye  can  integrate  all  the  parts, 
that  is,  the  poet.  This  is  the  best  part  of  these 
men's  farms,  yet  to  this  their  land-deeds  give 
them  no  title. 

To  speak  truly,  few  adult  persons  can  see 
nature.  Most  persons  do  not  see  the  sun.  At 
least  they  have  a  very  superficial  seeing.  The 
sun  illuminates  only  the  eye  of  the  man,  but 
shines  into  the  eye  and  the  heart  of  the  child. 
The  lover  of  nature  is  he  whose  inward  and 
outward  senses  are  still  truly  adjusted  to  each 
other ;  who  has  retained  the  spirit  of  infancy 
even  into  the  era  of  manhood.  His  intercourse 
with  heaven  and  earth,  becomes  part  of  his 
daily  food.  In  the  presence  of  nature,  a  wild 
delight  runs  through  the  man,  in  spite  of  real 
sorrows.  Nature  says,  —  he  is  my  creature, 


12  NATURE. 

and  maugre  all  his  impertinent  griefs,  he  shall 
be  glad  with  me.  Not  the  sun  or  the  summer 
alone,  but  every  hour  and  season  yields  its 
tribute  of  delight ;  for  every  hour  and  change 
corresponds  to  and  authorizes  a  different  state 
of  the  mind,  from  breathless  noon  to  grimmest 
midnight.  Nature  is  a  setting  that  fits  equally 
well  a  comic  or  a  mourning  piece.  In  good 
health,  the  air  is  a  cordial  of  incredible  virtue. 
Crossing  a  bare  common,  in  snow  puddles,  at 
twilight,  under  a  clouded  sky,  without  having 
in  my  thoughts  any  occurrence  of  special  good 
fortune,  I  have  enjoyed  a  perfect  exhilaration. 
Almost  I  fear  to  think  how  glad  I  am.  In  the 
woods  too,  a  man  casts  off  his  years,  as  the 
snake  his  slough,  and  at  what  period  soever  of 
life,  is  always  a  child.  In  the  woods,  is  per 
petual  youth.  Within  these  plantations  of  God, 
Bf  decorum  and  sanctity  reign,  a  perennial 
festival  is  dressed,  and  the  guest  sees  not  how 
he  should  tire  of  them  in  a  thousand  years. 
In  the  woods,  we  return  to  reason  and  faith. 
There  I  feel  that  nothing  can  befal  me  in 


NATURE.  13 

life,  —  no  disgrace,  no  calamity,  (leaving  me  my 
eyes,)  which  nature  cannot  repair.  Standing 
on  the  bare  ground,  —  my  head  bathed  by  the 
blithe  air,  and  uplifted  into  infinite  space,  —  all 
mean  egotism  vanishes.  I  become  a  transpa 
rent  eye-ball.  I  am  nothing.  I  see  all.  The 
currents  of  the  Universal  Being  circulate 
through  me ;  I  am  part  or  particle  of  God. 
The  name  of  the  nearest  friend  sounds  then 
foreign  and  accidental.  To  be  brothers,  to  be 
acquaintances,  —  master  or  servant,  is  then 
a  trifle*  and  a  disturbance.  I  am  the  lover 
of  uncontained  and  immortal  beauty.  In 
the  wilderness,  I  find  something  more  dear 
and  connate  than  in  streets  or  villages.  In  the 
tranquil  landscape,  and  especially  in  the  distant 
line  of  the  horizon,  man  beholds  somewhat  as 
beautiful  as  his  own  nature. 

The  greatest  delight  which  the  fields  and 
woods  minister,  is  the  suggestion  of  an  occult 
relation  between  man  and  the  vegetable.  I  am 
not  alone  and  unacknowledged.  They  nod  to 
me  and  I  to  them.  The  waving  of  the  boughs 
1* 


14  NATURE. 

in  the  storm,  is  new  to  me  and  old.  It  takes 
me  by  surprise,  and  yet  is  not  unknown.  Its 
effect  is  like  that  of  a  higher  thought  or  a 
better  emotion  coming  over  me,  when  I  deemed 
I  was  thinking  justly  or  doing  right. 

Yet  it  is  certain  that  the  power  to  produce 
this  delight,  does  not  reside  in  nature,  but  in 
man,  or  m  a  harmony  of  both.  It  is  necessary 
to  use  these  pleasures  with  great  temperance. 
For,  nature  is  not  always  tricked  in  holiday 
attire,  but  the  same  scene  which  yesterday 
breathed  perfume  and  glittered  as  for  the  frolic 
of  the  nymphs,  is  overspread  with  melancholy 
today.  Nature  always  wears  the  colors  of  the 
spirit.  To  a  man  laboring  under  calamity,  the 
heat  of  his  own  fire  hath  sadness  in  it.  Then, 
there  is  a  kind  of  contempt  of  the  landscape 
felt  by  him  who  has  just  lost  by  death  a  dear 
friend.  The  sky  is  less  grand  as  it  shuts  down 
over  less  worth  in  the  population. 


CHAPTER    II. 

COMMODITY. 

WHOEVER  considers  the  final  cause  of  the 
world,  will  discern  a  multitude  of  uses  that 
enter  as  parts  into  that  result.  They  all  admit 
of  being  thrown  into  one  of  the  following 
classes;  Commodity;  Beauty;  Language;  and 
Discipline. 

Under  the  general  name  of  Commodity, 
I  rank  all  those  advantages  which  our  senses 
owe  to  nature.  This,  of  course,  is  a  benefit 
which  is  temporary  and  mediate,  not  ultimate, 
like  its  service  to  the  soul.  Yet  although  low, 
it  is  perfect  in  its  kind,  and  is  the  only  use  of 
nature  which  all  men  apprehend.  The  misery 
of  man  appears  like  childish  petulance,  when 
we  explore  the  steady  and  prodigal  provision 
that  has  been  made  for  his  support  and  delight 
on  this  green  ball  which  floats  him  through  the 


16  COMMODITY. 

heavens.  What  angels  invented  these  splendid 
ornaments,  these  rich  conveniences,  this  ocean 
of  air  above,  this  ocean  of  water  beneath,  this 
firmament  of  earth  between  ?  this  zodiac  of 
lights,  this  tent  of  dropping  clouds,  this 
striped  coat  of  climates,  this  fourfold  year  1 
Beasts,  fire,  water,  stones,  and  corn  serve 
him.  The  field  is  at  once  his  floor,  his 
work-yard,  his  play-ground,  his  garden,  and  his 
bed. 

"  More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he'll  take  notice  of." 


Nature,  in  its  ministry  to  man,  is  not  only  the 
material,  but  is  also  the  process  and  the  result. 
All  the  parts  incessantly  work  into  each  other's 
hands  for  the  profit  of  man.  The  wind  sows 
the  seed ;  the  sun  evaporates  the  sea ;  the 
wind  blows  the  vapor  to  the  field ;  the  ice,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  planet,  condenses  rain  on 
this ;  the  rain  feeds  the  plant ;  the  plant  feeds 
the  animal ;  and  thus  the  endless  circulations 
of  the  divine  charity  nourish  man. 


COMMODITY.  17 

The  useful  arts  are  but  reproductions  or  new 
combinations  by  the  wit  of  man,  of  the  same 
natural  benefactors.  He  no  longer  waits  for 
favoring  gales,  but  by  means  of  steam,  he 
realizes  the  fable  of  ^Bolus's  bag,  and  carries 
the  two  and  thirty  winds  in  the  boiler  of  his 
boat.  To  diminish  friction,  he  paves  the  road 
with  iron  bars,  and,  mounting  a  coach  with  a 
ship-load  of  men,  animals,  and  merchandise 
behind  him,  he  darts  through  the  country,  from 
town  to  town,  like  an  eagle  or  a  swallow 
through  the  air.  By  the  aggregate  of  these 
aids,  how  is  the  face  of  the  world  changed, 
from  the  era  of  Noah  to  that  of  Napoleon  ! 
The  private  poor  man  hath  cities,  ships,  canals, 
bridges,  built  for  him.  He  goes  to  the  post- 
office,  and  the  human  race  run  on  his  errands  ; 
to  the  book-shop,  and  the  human  race  read 
and  write  of  all  that  happens,  for  him  ;  to  the 
court-house,  and  nations  repair  his  wrongs. 
He  sets  his  house  upon  the  road,  and  the 

human  race  go  forth  every  morning,  and  shovel 

*  ^ 
out  the  snow,  and  cut  a  path  for  him. 


--• 


'  1**s>"  * 


18  COMMODITY. 

But  there  is  no  need  of  specifying  particu 
lars  in  this  class  of  uses.  The  catalogue  is  end 
less,  and  the  examples  so  obvious,  that  I  shall 
leave  them  to  the  reader's  reflection,  with  the 
general  remark,  that  this  mercenary  benefit  is 
one  which  has  respect  to  a  farther  good.  A 
man  is  fed,  not  that  he  may  be  fed,  but  that  he 
may  work. 


CHAPTER    III. 

BEAUTY. 

A  NOBLER  want  of  man  is  served  by  nature, 
namely,  the  Jove  of  Beauty. 

The  ancient  Greeks  called  the  world  xoej^o?, 
beauty.  Such  is  the  constitution  of  all  things, 
or  such  the  plastic  power  of  the  human  eye, 
that  the  primary  forms,  as  the  sky,  the  moun 
tain,  the  tree,  the  animal,  give  us  a  delight  in 
and  for  themselves ;  a  pleasure  arising  from 
outline,  color,  motion,  and  grouping.  This 
seems  partly  owing  to  the  eye  itself.  The  eye 
is  the  best  of  artists.  By  the  mutual  action  of 
its  structure  and  of  the  laws  of  light,  perspec 
tive  is  produced,  which  integrates  every  mass 
of  objects,  of  what  character  soever,  into  a 
well  colored  and  shaded  globe,  so  that  where 
the  particular  objects  are  mean  and  unaffecting, 
the  landscape  which  they  compose,  is  round  and 


20     ^  BEAUTY. 

symmetrical.  And  as  the  eye  is  the  best  com 
poser,  so  light  is  the  first  of  painters.  There 
is  no  object  so  foul  that  intense  light  will  not 
make  beautiful.  And  the  stimulus  it  affords  to 
the  sense,  and  a  sort  of  infinitude  which  it  hath, 
like  space  and  time,  make  all  matter  gay. 
Even  the  corpse  hath  its  own  beauty.  But 
beside  this  general  grace  diffused  over  nature, 
almost  all  the  individual  forms  are  agreeable 
to  the  eye,  as  is  proved  by  our  endless  imita 
tions  of  some  of  them,  as  the  acorn,  the  grape, 
the  pine-cone,  the  wheat-ear,  the  egg,  the 
wings  and  forms  of  most  birds,  the  lion's  claw, 
the  serpent,  the  butterfly,  sea-shells,  flames, 
clouds,  buds,  leaves,  and  the  forms  of  many 
trees,  as  the  palm. 

For  better  consideration,  we  may  distribute 
the  aspects  of  Beauty  in  a  threefold  manner. 

1.  First,  the  simple  perception  of  natural  forms 
is  a  delight.  The  influence  of  the  forms  and  ac 
tions  in  nature,  is  so  needful  to  man,  that,  in  its 
lowest  functions,  it  seems  to  lie  on  the  confines 
of  commodity  and  beauty.  To  the  body  and  mind 


BEAUTY.  21 

which  have  been  cramped  by  noxious  work  or 
company,  nature  is  medicinal  and  restores  their 
tone.  The  tradesman,  the  attorney  comes  out 
of  the  din  and  craft  of  the  street,  and  sees  the 
sky  and  the  woods,  and  is  a  man  again.  In 
their  eternal  calm,  he  finds  himself.  The 
health  of  the  eye  seems  to  demand  a  horizon. 
We  are  never  tired,  so  long  as  we  can  see  far 
enough. 

But  in  other  hours,  Nature  satisfies  the  soul 
purely  by  its  loveliness,  and  without  any  mix 
ture  of  corporeal  benefit.  I  have  seen  the 
spectacle  of  morning  from  the  hill-top  over 
against  my  house,  from  day-break  to  sun-rise, 
with  emotions  which  an  angel  might  share. 
The  long  slender  bars  of  cloud  float  like  fishes 
in  the  sea  of  crimson  light.  From  the  earth, 
as  a  shore,  I  look  out  into  that  silent  sea.  I 
seem  to  partake  its  rapid  transformations  :  the 
active  enchantment  reaches  my  dust,  and  I 
dilate  and  conspire  with  the  morning  wind. 
How  does  Nature  deify  us  with  a  few  and 
cheap  elements !  Give  me  health  and  a  day, 
2 


22  BEAUTY. 

and  I  will  make  the  pomp  of  emperors  ridicu 
lous.  The  dawn  is  my  Assyria;  the  sun-set 
and  moon-rise  my  Paphos,  and  unimaginable 
realms  of  faerie ;  broad  noon  shall  be  my  Eng 
land  of  the  senses  and  the  understanding;  the 
night  shall  be  my  Germany  of  mystic  philoso 
phy  and  dreams. 

Not  less  excellent,  except  for  our  less  sus 
ceptibility  in  the  afternoon,  was  the  charm,  last 
evening,  of  a  January  sunset.  The  western 
clouds  divided  and  subdivided  themselves  into 
pink  flakes  modulated  with  tints  of  unspeakable 
softness;  and  the  air  had  so  much  life  and 
sweetness,  that  it  was  a  pain  to  come  within 
doors.  What  was  it  that  nature  would  say  ? 
Was  there  no  meaning  in  the  live  repose  of  the 
valley  behind  the  mill,  and  which  Homer  or 
Shakspeare  could  not  re-form  for  me  in  words  ? 
The  leafless  trees  become  spires  of  flame  in 
the  sunset,  with  the  blue  east  for  their  back 
ground,  and  the  stars  of  the  dead  calices  of 
flowers,  and  every  withered  stem  and  stubble 
rimed  with  frost,  contribute  something  to  the 
mute  music. 


BEAUTY.  23 

The  inhabitants  of  cities  suppose  that  the 
country  landscape  is  pleasant  only  half  the  year. 
I  please  myself  with  observing  the  graces  of 
the  winter  scenery,  and  believe  that  we  are  as 
much  touched  by  it  as  by  the  genial  influences 
of  summer.  To  the  attentive  eye,  each  moment 
of  the  year  has  its  own  beauty,  and  in  the 
same  field,  it  beholds,  every  hour,  a  picture 
which  was  never  seen  before,  and  which  shall 
never  be  seen  again.  The  heavens  change 
every  moment,  and  reflect  their  glory  or  gloom 
on  the  plains  beneath.  The  state  of  the  crop 
in  the  surrounding  farms  alters  the  expression 
of  the  earth  from  week  to  week.  The  succes 
sion  of  native  plants  in  the  pastures  and  road 
sides,  which  make  the  silent  clock  by  which 
time  tells  the  summer  hours,  will  make  even 
the  divisions  of  the  day  sensible  to  a  keen 
observer.  The  tribes  of  birds  and  insects,  like 
the  plants  punctual  to  their  time,  follow  each 
other,  and  the  year  has  room  for  all.  By  water 
courses,  the  variety  is  greater.  In  July,  the 
blue  pontederia  or  pickerel-weed  blooms  in 


24  BEAUTY. 

large  beds  in  the  shallow  parts  of  our  pleasant 
river,  and  swarms  with  yellow  butterflies  in  con 
tinual  motion.  Art  cannot  rival  this  pomp  of 
purple  and  gold.  Indeed  the  river  is  a  per 
petual  gala,  and  boasts  each  month  a  new 
ornament. 

But  this  beauty  of  Nature  which  is  seen  and 
felt  as  beauty,  is  the  least  part.  The  shows  of 
day,  the  dewy  morning,  the  rainbow,  moun 
tains,  orchards  in  blossom,  stars,  moonlight, 
shadows  in  still  water,  and  the  like,  if  too 
eagerly  hunted,  become  shows  merely,  and 
mock  us  with  their  unreality.  Go  out  of  the 
house  to  see  the  moon,  and  't  is  mere  tinsel ;  it 
will  not  please  as  when  its  light  shines  upon 
your  necessary  journey.  The  beauty  that 
shimmers  in  the  yellow  afternoons  of  October, 
who  ever  could  clutch  it  1  Cio  forth  to  find  it, 
and  it  is  gone  :  't  is  only  a  mirage  as  you  look 
from  the  windows  of  diligence. 

2.  The  presence  of  a  higher,  namely,  of  the 
spiritual  element  is  essential  to  its  perfection. 
The  high  and  divine  beauty  which  can  be  loved 


BEAUTY.  25 

without  effeminacy,  is  that  which  is  found  in 
combination  with  the  human  will,  and  never 
separate.  Beauty  is  the  mark  God  sets  upon 
virtue.  Every  natural  action  is  graceful.  Every 
heroic  act  is  also  decent,  and  causes  the  place 
and  the  bystanders  to  shine.  We  are  taught  by 
great  actions  that  the  universe  is  the  property 
of  every  individual  in  it.  Every  rational  crea 
ture  has  all  nature  for  his  dowry  and  estate.  It 
is  his,  if  he  will.  He  may  divest  himself  of  it ; 
he  may  creep  into  a  corner,  and  abdicate  his 
kingdom,  as  most  men  do,  but  he  is  entitled  to 
the  world  by  his  constitution.  In  proportion  to 
the  energy  of  his  thought  and  will,  he  takes  up 
the  world  into  himself.  "  All  those  things  for 
which  men  plough,  build,  or  sail,  obey  virtue; " 
said  an  ancient  historian.  "  The  winds  and 
waves,"  said  Gibbon,  "  are  always  on  the  side 
of  the  ablest  navigators."  So  are  the  sun  and 
moon  and  all  the  stars  of  heaven.  When  a 
noble  act  is  done,  —  perchance  in  a  scene  of 
great  natural  beauty;  when  Leonidas  and  his 
three  hundred  martyrs  consume  one  day  in 
2* 


26  BEAUTY. 

dying,  and  the  sun  and  moon  come  each  and 
look  at  them  once  in  the  steep  defile  of  Ther 
mopylae  ;  when  Arnold  Winkelried,  in  the  high 
Alps,  under  the  shadow  of  the  avalanche,  gath 
ers  in  his  side  a  sheaf  of  Austrian  spears  to 
break  the  line  for  his  comrades ;  are  not  these 
heroes  entitled  to  add  the  beauty  of  the  scene  to 
the  beauty  of  the  deed  ?  When  the  bark  of 
Columbus  nears  the  shore  of  America ;  —  before 
it,  the  beach  lined  with  savages,  fleeing  out  of 
all  their  huts  of  cane ;  the  sea  behind ;  and  the 
purple  mountains  of  the  Indian  Archipelago 
around,  can  we  separate  the  man  from  the  liv 
ing  picture  ?  Does  not  the  New  World  clothe 
his  form  with  her  palm-groves  and  savannahs  as 
fit  drapery  1  Ever  does  natural  beauty  steal  in 
like  air,  and  envelope  great  actions.  When  Sir 
Harry  Vane  was  dragged  up  the  Tower-hill, 
sitting  on  a  sled,  to  suffer  death,  as  the  cham 
pion  of  the  English  laws,  one  of  the  multitude 
cried  out  to  him,  "  You  never  sate  on  so  glori 
ous  a  seat."  Charles  II.,  to  intimidate  the  citi 
zens  of  London,  caused  the  patriot  Lord  Rus- 


BEAUTY.  <J7 

sel  to  be  drawn  in  an  open  coach,  through  the 
principal  streets  of  the  city,  on  his  way  to  the 
scaffold.  "  But,"  to  use  the  simple  narrative  of 
his  biographer,  "  the  multitude  imagined  they 
saw  liberty  and  virtue  sitting  by  his  side."  In 
private  places,  among  sordid  objects,  an  act  of 
truth  or  heroism  seems  at  once  to  draw  to  itself 
the  sky  as  its  temple,  the  sun  as  its  candle. 
Nature  stretcheth  out  her  arms  to  embrace  man, 
only  Jet  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  greatness. 
Willingly  does  she  follow  his  steps  with  the  rose 
and  the  violet,  and  bend  her  lines  of  grandeur 
and  grace  to  the  decoration  of  her  darling  child. 
Only  let  his  thoughts  be  of  equal  scope,  and  the 
frame  will  suit  the  picture.  A  virtuous  man,  is 
in  unison  with  her  works,  and  makes  the  cen 
tral  figure  of  the  visible  sphere.  Homer,  Pin 
dar,  Socrates,  Phocion,  associate  themselves 
fitly  in  our  memory  with  the  whole  geography 
and  climate  of  Greece.  The  visible  heavens 
and  earth  sympathize  with  Jesus.  And  in  com 
mon  life,  whosoever  has  seen  a  person  of  power 
ful  character  and  happy  genius,  will  have  re- 


28  BEAUTY. 

marked  how  easily  he  took  all  things  along  with 
him,  —  the  persons,  the  opinions,  and  the  day, 
and  nature  became  ancillary  to  a  man. 

3.  There  is  still  another  aspect  under  which 
the  beauty  of  the  world  may  be  viewed,  namely, 
as  it  becomes  an  object  of  the  intellect.  Be 
side  the  relation  of  things  to  virtue,  they  have  a 
relation  to  thought.  The  intellect  searches  out 
the  absolute  order  of  things  as  they  stand  in  the 
mind  of  God,  and  without  the  colors  of  affec 
tion.  The  intellectual  and  the  active  powers 
seem  to  succeed  each  other  in  man,  and  the  ex 
clusive  activity  of  the  one,  generates  the  exclu 
sive  activity  of  the  other.  There  is  something 
unfriendly  in  each  to  the  other,  but  they  are 
like  the  alternate  periods  of  feeding  and  work 
ing  in  animals ;  each  prepares  and  certainly  will 
be  followed  by  the  other.  Therefore  does  beau 
ty,  which,  in  relation  to  actions,  as  we  have 
seen  comes  unsought,  and  comes  because  it  is  un 
sought,  remain  for  the  apprehension  and  pursuit 
of  the  intellect ;  and  then  again,  in  its  turn,  of 
the  active  power.  Nothing  divine  dies.  All 


BEAUTY.  29 

good  is  eternally  reproductive.  The  beauty  of 
nature  reforms  itself  in  the  mind,  and  not  for 
barren  contemplation,  but  for  new  creation. 

All  men  are  in  some  degree  impressed  by  the 
face  of  the  world.  Some  men  even  to  delight. 
This  love  of  beauty  is  Taste.  Others  have  the 
same  love  in  such  excess,  that,  not  content  with 
admiring,  they  seek  to  embody  it  in  new  forms. 
The  creation  of  beauty  is  Art. 

The  production  of  a  work  of  art  throws  a 
light  upon  the  mystery  of  humanity.  A  work 
of  art  is  an  abstract  or  epitome  of  the  world. 
It  is  the  result  or  expression  of  nature,  in  mini 
ature.  For  although  the  works  of  nature  are 
innumerable  and  all  different,  the  result  or  the 
expression  of  them  all  is  similar  and  single. 
Nature  is  a  sea  of  forms  radically  alike  and 
even  unique.  A  leaf,  a  sun-beam,  a  landscape, 
the  ocean,  make  an  analogous  impression  on 
the  mind.  What  is  common  to  them  all, — that 
perfectness  and  harmony,  is  beauty.  There 
fore  the  standard  of  beauty,  is  the  entire  circuit 
of  natural  forms,  —  the  totality  of  nature ; 


.  . 

30  BEAUTY. 

which  the  Italians  expressed  by  defining  beauty 
"  il  piu  nelF  uno,"  Nothing  is  quite  beautiful 
alone :  nothing  but  is  beautiful  in  the  whole.  A 
single  object  is  only  so  far  beautiful  as  it  sug 
gests  this  universal  grace.  The  poet,  the  pain 
ter,  the  sculptor,  the  musician,  the  architect 
seek  each  to  concentrate  this  radiance  of  the 
world  on  one  point,  and  each  in  his  several 
work  to  satisfy  the  love  of  beauty  which  stimu 
lates  him  to  produce.  Thus  is  Art,  a  nature 
passed  through  the  alembic  of  man.  Thus  in 
art,  does  nature  work  through  the  will  of  a  man 
filled  with  the  beauty  of  her  first  works. 

The  world  thus  exists  to  the  soul  to  satisfy  the 
desire  of  beauty.  Extend  this  element  to  the 
uttermost,  and  I  call  it  an  ultimate  end.  No 
reason  can  be  asked  or  given  why  the  soul  seeks 
beauty.  Beauty,  in  its  largest  and  profoundest 
sense,  is  one  expression  for  the  universe.  God 
is  the  all-fair.  Truth,  and  goodness,  and  beau 
ty,  are  but  different  faces  of  the  same  All.  But 
beauty  in  nature  is  not  ultimate.  It  is  the 
herald  of  inward  and  eternal  beauty,  and  is 


* 

4 


BEAUTY.  31 

not  alone  a  solid  and  satisfactory  good.      It       :» 
must  therefore  stand   as  a  part  and  not  as  yet 
the  last  or  highest  expression  of  the  final  cause 
of  Nature. 


M     *     1* 


CHAPTER    IV. 

LANGUAGE. 

A  THIRD  use  which  Nature  subserves  to  man 
is  that  of  Language.  Nature  is  the  vehicle  of 
thought,  and  in  a  simple,  double,  and  threefold 
degree. 

1.  Words  are  signs  of  natural  facts. 

2.  Particular  natural  facts  are  symbols  of  par 
ticular  facts. 

3.  Nature  is  the  symbol  of  spirits. 

1.  Words  are  signs  of  natural  facts.  The 
use  of  natural  history  is  to  give  us  aid  in 
supernatural  history.  The  use  of  the  outer 
creation  is  to  give  us  language  for  the  beings 
and  changes  of  the  inward  creation.  Every 
word  which  is  used  to  express  a  moral  or  intel 
lectual  fact,  if  traced  to  its  root,  is  found  to 
be  borrowed  from  some  material  appearance. 
Right  originally  means  straight ;  wrong  means 
twisted.  Spirit  primarily  means  wind;  trans- 


LANGUAGE.  33 

gression,  the  crossing  of  a  line;  supercilious , 
the  raising  of  the  eye-brow.  We  say  the  heart 
to  express  emotion,  the  head  to  denote  thought; 
and  thought  and  emotion  are,  in  their  turn, 
words  borrowed  from  sensible  things,  and  now 
appropriated  to  spiritual  nature.  Most  of  the 
process  by  which  this  transformation  is  made, 
is  hidden  from  us  in  the  remote  time  when 
language  was  framed ;  but  the  same  tendency 
may  be  daily  observed  in  children.  Children 
and  savages  use  only  nouns  or  names  of  things, 
which  they  continually  convert  into  verbs,  and 
apply  to  analogous  mental  acts. 

2.  But  this  origin  of  all  words  that  convey  a 
spiritual  import,  —  so  conspicuous  a  fact  in  the 
history  of  language,  —  is  our  least  debt  to 
nature.  It  is  not  words  only  that  are  emble 
matic  ;  it  is  things  which  are  emblematic. 
Every  natural  fact  is  a  symbol  of  some  spiritual 
fact.  Every  appearance  in  nature  corresponds 
to  some  state  of  the  mind,  and  that  state  of  the 
mind  can  only  be  described  by  presenting  that 
natural  appearance  as  its  picture.  An  enraged 
3 

-  /£        *  -  ;?**,  - 


iv 


34  LANGUAGE. 

man  is  a  lion,  a  cunning  man  is  a  fox,  a  firm 
man  is  a  rock,  a  learned  man  is  a  torch.  A 
lamb  is  innocence ;  a  snake  is  subtle  spite  ; 
flowers  express  to  us  the  delicate  affections. 
Light  and  darkness  are  our  familiar  expression 
for  knowledge  and  ignorance ;  and  heat  for 
love.  Visible  distance  behind  and  before  us, 
is  respectively  our  image  of  memory  and  hope. 
Who  looks  upon  a  river  in  a  meditative  hour, 
and  is  not  reminded  of  the  flux  of  all  things? 
Throw  a  stone  into  the  stream,  and  the  circles 
that  propagate  themselves  are  the  beautiful 
type  of  all  influence.  Man  is  conscious  of  a 
universal  soul  within  or  behind  his  individual 
life,  wherein,  as  in  a  firmament,  the  natures  of 
Justice,  Truth,  Love,  Freedom,  arise  and  shine. 
This  universal  soul,  he  calls  Reason  :  it  is  not 
mine  or  thine  or  his,  but  we  are  its ;  we  are  its 
property  and  men.  And  the  blue  sky  in  which 
the  private  earth  is  buried,  the  sky  with  its 
eternal  calm,  and  full  of  everlasting  orbs,  is  the 
type  of  Reason.  That  which,  intellectually 
considered,  we  call  Reason,  considered  in  rela- 


IF* 


LANGUAGE.  35 

tion  to  nature,  we  call  Spirit.  Spirit  is  the 
Creator.  Spirit  hath  life  in  itself.  And  man 
in  all  ages  and  countries,  embodies  it  in  his 
language,  as  the  FATHER. 

It  is  easily  seen  that  there  is  nothing  lucky  or 
capricious  in  these  analogies,  but  that  they  are 
constant,  and  pervade  nature.  These  are  not 
the  dreams  of  a  few  poets,  here  and  there,  but 
man  is  an  analogist,  and  studies  relations  in  all 
objects.  He  is  placed  in  the  centre  of  beings, 
and  a  ray  of  relation  passes  from  every  other 
being  to  him.  And  neither  can  man  be  under 
stood  without  these  objects,  nor  these  objects 
without  man.  All  the  facts  in  natural  history 
taken  by  themselves,  have  no  value,  but  are  bar 
ren  like  a  single  sex.  But  marry  it  to  human 
history,  and  it  is  full  of  life.  Whole  Floras,  all 
Linnaeus'  and  BufFon's  volumes,  are  but  dry 
catalogues  of  facts ;  but  the  most  trivial  of 
these  facts,  the  habit  of  a  plant,  the  organs,  or 
work,  or  noise  of  an  insect,  applied  to  the  illus 
tration  of  a  fact  in  intellectual  philosophy,  or, 
in  any  way  associated  to  human  nature,  affects 


36  LANGUAGE. 

us  in  the  most  lively  and  agreeable  manner. 
The  seed  of  a  plant,  —  to  what  affecting  analo 
gies  in  the  nature  of  man,  is  that  little  fruit 
made  use  of,  in  all  discourse,  up  to  the  voice  of 
Paul,  who  calls  the  human  corpse  a  seed, — 
"  It  is  sown  a  natural  body ;  it  is  raised  a 
spiritual  body."  The  motion  of  the  earth  round 
its  axis,  and  round  the  sun,  makes  the  day,  and 
the  year.  These  are  certain  amounts  of  brute 
light  and  heat.  But  is  there  no  intent  of  an 
analogy  between  man's  life  and  the  seasons? 
And  do  the  seasons  gain  no  grandeur  or  pathos 
from  that  analogy  ?  The  instincts  of  the  ant 
are  very  unimportant  considered  as  the  ant's ; 
but  the  moment  a  ray  of  relation  is  seen  to  ex 
tend  from  it  to  man,  and  the  little  drudge  is 
seen  to  be  a  monitor,  a  little  body  with  a  mighty 
heart,  then  all  its  habits,  even  that  said  to  be 
recently  observed,  that  it  never  sleeps,  become 
sublime. 

Because  of  this  radical  correspondence  be 
tween  visible  things  and  human  thoughts,  sava 
ges,  who  have  only  what  is  necessary,  converse 


LANGUAGE.  37 

in  figures.  As  we  go  back  in  history,  language 
becomes  more  picturesque,  until  its  infancy, 
when  it  is  all  poetry ;  or,  all  spiritual  facts  are 
represented  by  natural  symbols.  The  same 
symbols  are  found  to  make  the  original  ele 
ments  of  all  languages.  It  has  moreover  been 
observed,  that  the  idioms  of  all  languages  ap 
proach  each  other  in  passages  of  the  greatest 
eloquence  and  power.  And  as  this  is  the  first 
language,  so  is  it  the  last.  This  immediate  de 
pendence  of  language  upon  nature,  this  conver 
sion  of  an  outward  phenomenon  into  a  type  of 
somewhat  in  human  life,  never  loses  its  power 
to  affect  us.  It  is  this  which  gives  that  piquan 
cy  to  the  conversation  of  a  strong-natured 
farmer  or  back-woodsman,  which  all  men  relish. 
Thus  is  nature  an  interpreter,  by  whose 
means  man  converses  with  his  fellow  men.  A 
man's  power  to  connect  his  thought  with  its 
proper  symbol,  and  so  utter  it,  depends  on  the 
simplicity  of  his  character,  that  is,  upon  his 
love  of  truth  and  his  desire  to  communicate  it 
without  loss.  The  corruption  of  man  is  follow- 
3* 


38  LANGUAGE. 

ed  by  the  corruption  of  language.  When  sim 
plicity  of  character  and  the  sovereignty  of  ideas 
is  broken  up  by  the  prevalence  of  secondary  de 
sires,  the  desire  of  riches,  the  desire  of  plea 
sure,  the  desire  of  power,  the  desire  of  praise, 
—  and  duplicity  and  falsehood  take  place  of  sim 
plicity  and  truth,  the  power  over  nature  as  an 
interpreter  of  the  will,  is  in  a  degree  lost ;  new 
imagery  ceases  to  be  created,  and  old  words  are 
perverted  to  stand  for  things  which  are  not;  a 
paper  currency  is  employed  when  there  is  no 
bullion  in  the  vaults.  In  due  time,  the  fraud  is 
manifest,  and  words  lose  all  power  to  stimulate 
the  understanding  or  the  affections.  Hundreds 
of  writers  may  be  found  in  every  long-civilized 
nation,  who  for  a  short  time  believe,  and  make 
others  believe,  that  they  see  and  utter  truths, 
who  do  not  of  themselves  clothe  one  thought  in 
its  natural  garment,  but  who  feed  unconsciously 
upon  the  language  created  by  the  primary 
writers  of  the  country,  those,  namely,  who  hold 
primarily  on  nature. 


LANGUAGE.  39 

But  wise  men  pierce  this  rotten  diction  and 
fasten  words  again  to  visible  things ;  so  that 
picturesque  language  is  at  once  a  commanding 
certificate  that  he  who  employs  it,  is  a  man  in 
alliance  with  truth  and  God.  The  moment  our 
discourse  rises  above  the  ground  line  of  familiar 
facts,  and  is  inflamed  with  passion  or  exalted  by 
thought,  it  clothes  itself  in  images.  A  man 
conversing  in  earnest,  if  he  watch  his  intel 
lectual  processes,  will  find  that  always  a  ma 
terial  image,  more  or  less  luminous,  arises  in 
his  mind,  cotemporaneous  with  every  thought, 
which  furnishes  the  vestment  of  the  thought. 

o 

Hence,  good  writing  and  brilliant  discourse  are 
perpetual  allegories.  This  imagery  is  sponta 
neous.  It  is  the  blending  of  experience  with 
the  present  action  of  the  mind.  It  is  proper 
creation.  It  is  the  working  of  the  Original 
Cause  through  the  instruments  he  has  already 
made. 

These  facts  may  suggest  the  advantage  which 
the  country-life  possesses  for  a  powerful  mind, 
over  the  artificial  and  curtailed  life  of  cities.  We 


40  LANGUAGE. 

know   more  from   nature  than  we  can  at  will 

*  -% 

communicate.  Its  light  flows  into  the  mind 
evermore,  and  we  forget  its  presence.  The  poet, 
the  orator,  bred  in  the  woods,  whose  senses 
have  been  nourished  by  their  fair  and  appeasing 
changes,  year  after  year,  without  design  and 
without  heed,  —  shall  not  lose  their  lesson  al 
together,  in  the  roar  of  cities  or  the  broil  of 
politics.  Long  hereafter,  amidst  agitation  and 
terror  in  national  councils,  —  in  the  hour  of 
revolution,  —  these  solemn  images  shall  reap 
pear  in  their  morning  lustre,  as  fit  symbols  and 
words  of  the  thoughts  which  the  passing  events 
shall  awaken.  At  the  call  of  a  noble  sentiment, 
again  the  woods  wave,  the  pines  murmur,  the 
river  rolls  and  shines,  and  the  cattle  low  upon 
the  mountains,  as  he  saw  and  heard  them  in  his 
infancy.  And  with  these  forms,  the  spells  of  per 
suasion,  the  keys  of  power  are  put  into  his  hands. 
3.  We  are  thus  assisted  by  natural  objects  in 
the  expression  of  particular  meanings.  But 
how  great  a  language  to  convey  such  pepper 
corn  informations!  Did  it  need  such  noble 


LANGUAGE.  41 

races  of  creatures,  this  profusion  of  forms,  this 
host  of  orbs  in  heaven,  to  furnish  man  with  the 
dictionary  and  grammar  of  his  municipal  speech? 
Whilst  we  use  this  grand  cipher  to  expedite  the 
affairs  of  our  pot  and  kettle,  we  feel  that  we 
have  not  yet  put  it  to  its  use,  neither  are  able. 
We  are  like  travellers  using  the  cinders  of  a 
volcano  to  roast  their  eggs.  Whilst  we  see  that 
it  always  stands  ready  to  clothe  what  we  would 
say,  we  cannot  avoid  the  question,  whether  the 
characters  are  not  significant  of  themselves. 
Have  mountains,  and  waves,  and  skies,  no  sig 
nificance  but  what  we  consciously  give  them, 
when  we  employ  them  as  emblems  of  our 
thoughts  ?  The  world  is  emblematic.  Parts  of 
speech  are  metaphors  because  the  whole  of  na 
ture  is  a  metaphor  of  the  human  mind.  The 
laws  of  moral  nature  answer  to  those  of  matter 
as  face  to  face  in  a  glass.  "  The  visible  world 
and  the  relation  of  its  parts,  is  the  dial  plate  of 
the  invisible."  The  axioms  of  physics  trans 
late  the  Jaws  of  ethics.  Thus,  "  the  whole  is 
greater  than  its  part ;  "  "  reaction  is  equal  to 


. 


42  LANGUAGE. 

action  ;  "  "  the  smallest  weight  may  be  made  to 
lift  the  greatest,  the  difference  of  weight  being 
compensated  by  time  ;  "  and  many  the  like  pro 
positions,  which  have  an  ethical  as  well  as  phy 
sical  sense.  These  propositions  have  a  much 
more  extensive  and  universal  sense  when  ap 
plied  to  human  life,  than  when  confined  to 
technical  use. 

In  like  manner,  the  memorable  words  of  his 
tory,  and  the  proverbs  of  nations,  consist  usu 
ally  of  a  natural  fact,  selected  as  a  picture  or 
parable  of  a  moral  truth.  Thus;  A  rolling 
stone  gathers  no  moss ;  A  bird  in  the  hand  is 
worth  two  in  the  bush ;  A  cripple  in  the  right 
way,  will  beat  a  racer  in  the  wrong ;  Make  hay 
whilst  the  sun  shines ;  'T  is  hard  to  carry  a  full 
cup  even ;  Vinegar  is  the  son  of  wine ;  The 
last  ounce  broke  the  camel's  back ;  Long-lived 
trees  make  roots  first;  —  and  the  like.  In  their 
primary  sense  these  are  trivial  facts,  but  we  re 
peat  them  for  the  value  of  their  analogical  im 
port.  What  is  true  of  proverbs,  is  true  of  all 
fables,  parables,  and  allegories. 


LANGUAGE.  43 

This  relation  between  the  mind  and  matter  is 
not  fancied  by  some  poet,  but  stands  in  the  will 
of  God,  and  so  is  free  to  be  known  by  all  men. 
It  appears  to  men,  or  it  does  not  appear.  When 
in  fortunate  hours  we  ponder  this  miracle,  the 
wise  man  doubts,  if,  at  all  other  times,  he  is  not 
blind  and  deaf; 

"  Can  these  things  be, 


And  overcome  us  like  a  summer's  cloud, 
Without  our  special  wonder  ? " 

for  the  universe  becomes  transparent,  and  the 
light  of  higher  laws  than  its  own,  shines 
through  it.  It  is  the  standing  problem  which 
has  exercised  the  wonder  and  the  study  of 
every  fine  genius  since  the  world  began ; 
from  the  era  of  the  Egyptians  and  the  Brah 
mins,  to  that  of  Pythagoras,  of  Plato,  of  Ba 
con,  of  Leibnitz,  of  Swedenborg.  There  sits 
the  Sphinx  at  the  road-side,  and  from  age  to 
age,  as  each  prophet  comes  by,  he  tries  his  for 
tune  at  reading  her  riddle.  There  seems  to  be 
a  necessity  in  spirit  to  manifest  itself  in  material 


44  LANGUAGE. 

forms ;  and  day  and  night,  river  and  storm, 
beast  and  bird,  acid  and  alkali,  preexist  in 
necessary  Ideas  in  the  mind  of  God,  and  are 
what  they  are  by  virtue  of  preceding  affections, 
in  the  world  of  spirit.  A  Fact  is  the  end  or 
last  issue  of  spirit.  The  visible  creation  is  the 
terminus  or  the  circumference  of  the  invisible 
world.  "  Material  objects,"  said  a  French  phi 
losopher,  "  are  necessarily  kinds  of  scoria  of 
the  substantial  thoughts  of  the  Creator,  which 
must  always  preserve  an  exact  relation  to  their 
first  origin  ;  in  other  words,  visible  nature  must 
have  a  spiritual  and  moral  side." 

This  doctrine  is  abstruse,  and  though  the 
images  of  "  garment,"  "  scoriae,"  "  mirror," 
&c.,  may  stimulate  the  fancy,  we  must  summon 
the  aid  of  subtler  and  more  vital  expositors  to 
make  it  plain.  "  Every  scripture  is  to  be  inter 
preted  by  the  same  spirit  which  gave  it  forth," 
—  is  the  fundamental  law  of  criticism.  A  life 
in  harmony  with  nature,  the  love  of  truth  and 
of  virtue,  will  purge  the  eyes  to  understand  her 
text.  By  degrees  we  may  come  to  know  the 


LANGUAGE.  45 

primitive  sense  of  the  permanent  objects  of  na 
ture,  so  that  the  world  shall  be  to  us  an  open 
book,  and  every  form  significant  of  its  hidden 
life  and  final  cause. 

A  new  interest  surprises  us,  whilst,  under  the 
view  now  suggested,  we  contemplate  the  fearful 
extent  and  multitude  of  objects ;  since  "  every 
object  rightly  seen,  unlocks  a  new  faculty  of  the 
soul."  That  which  was  unconscious  truth,  be 
comes,  when  interpreted  and  defined  in  an  ob 
ject,  a  part  of  the  domain  of  knowledge,  —  a 
new  amount  to  the  magazine  of  power. 


CHAPTER   V. 

DISCIPLINE. 

IN  view  of  this  significance  of  nature,  we  ar 
rive  at  once  at  a  new  fact,  that  nature  is  a  dis 
cipline.  This  use  of  the  world  includes  the 
preceding  uses,  as  parts  of  itself. 

Space,  time,  society,  labor,  climate,  food,  loco 
motion,  the  animals,  the  mechanical  forces,  give 
us  sincerest  lessons,  day  by  day,  whose  meaning 
is  unlimited.  They  educate  both  the  Under 
standing  and  the  Reason.  Every  property  of 
matter  is  a  school  for  the  understanding,  —  its  so 
lidity  or  resistance,  its  inertia,  its  extension,  its 
figure,  its  divisibility.  The  understanding  adds, 
divides,  combines,  measures,  and  finds  everlast 
ing  nutriment  and  room  for  its  activity  in  this 
worthy  scene.  Meantime,  Reason  transfers  all 
these  lessons  into  its  own  world  of  thought,  by 
perceiving  the  analogy  that  marries  Matter  and 
Mind. 


• 


DISCIPLINE.  47 

1.  Nature  is  a  discipline  of  the  understanding 
in  intellectual  truths.  Our  dealing  with  sensi 
ble  objects  is  a  constant  exercise  in  the  neces 
sary  lessons  of  difference,  of  likeness,  of  order, 
of  being  and  seeming,  of  progressive  arrange 
ment  ;  of  ascent  from  particular  to  general ;  of 
combination  to  one  end  of  manifold  forces. 
Proportioned  to  the  importance  of  the  organ  to 
be  formed,  is  the  extreme  care  with  which  its 
tuition  is  provided,  —  a  care  pretermitted  in  no 
single  case.  What  tedious  training,  day  after 
day,  year  after  year,  never  ending,  to  form  the 
common  sense  ;  what  continual  reproduction  of 
annoyances,  inconveniences,  dilemmas ;  what 
rejoicing  over  us  of  little  men  ;  what  disputing 
of  prices,  what  reckonings  of  interest,  —  and 
all  to  form  the  Hand  of  the  mind ;  —  to  instruct 
us  that  "  good  thoughts  are  no  better  than  good 
dreams,  unless  they  be  executed  !  " 

The  same  good  office  is  performed  by  Pro 
perty  and  its  filial  systems  of  debt  and  credit. 
Debt,  grinding  debt,  whose  iron  face  the  widow, 
the  orphan,  and  the  sons  of  genius  fear  and 


48  DISCIPLINE. 

hate;  —  debt,  which  consumes  so  much  time, 
which  so  cripples  and  disheartens  a  great  spirit 
with  cares  that  seem  so  base,  is  a  preceptor 
whose  lessons  cannot  be  forgone,  and  is  needed 
most  by  those  who  suffer  from  it  most.  More 
over,  property,  which  has  been  well  compared 
to  snow, — "  if  it  fall  level  to-day,  it  will  be 
blown  into  drifts  to-morrow,"  —  is  merely  the 
surface  action  of  internal  machinery,  like  the 
index  on  the  face  of  a  clock.  Whilst  now  it  is 
the  gymnastics  of  the  understanding,  it  is  hiv 
ing  in  the  foresight  of  the  spirit,  experience  in 
profounder  laws. 

The  whole  character  and  fortune  of  the  indi 
vidual  is  affected  by  the  least  inequalities  in  the 
culture  of  the  understanding ;  for  example,  in 
the  perception  of  differences.  Therefore  is 
Space,  and  therefore  Time,  that  man  may  know 
that  things  are  not  huddled  and  lumped,  but 
sundered  and  individual.  A  bell  and  a  plough 
have  each  their  use,  and  neither  can  do  the 
office  of  the  other.  Water  is  good  to  drink, 
coal  to  burn,  wool  to  wear ;  but  wool  cannot  be 


DISCIPLINE.  49 

drunk,  nor  water  spun,  nor  coal  eaten.  The 
wise  man  shows  his  wisdom  in  separation,  in 
gradation,  and  his  scale  of  creatures  and  of 
merits,  is  as  wide  as  nature.  The  foolish  have 
no  range  in  their  scale,  but  suppose  every  man 
is  as  every  other  man.  What  is  not  good  they 
call  the  worst,  and  what  is  not  hateful,  they  call 
the  best. 

In  like  manner,  what  good  heed,  nature  forms 
in  us !  She  pardons  no  mistakes.  Her  yea  is 
yea,  and  her  nay,  nay. 

The  first  steps  in  Agriculture,  Astronomy, 
Zoology,  (those  first  steps  which  the  farmer,  the 
hunter,  and  the  sailor  take,)  teach  that  nature's 
dice  are  always  loaded ;  that  in  her  heaps  and 
rubbish  are  concealed  sure  and  useful  results. 

How  calmly  and  genially  the  mind  apprehends 
one  after  another  the  laws  of  physics !  What 
noble  emotions  dilate  the  mortal  as  he  enters 
into  the  counsels  of  the  creation,  and  feels  by 
knowledge  the  privilege  to  BE  !  His  insight 
refines  him.  The  beauty  of  nature  shines  in 
his  own  breast.  Man  is  greater  that  he  can  see 
4* 


50  DISCIPLINE. 

this,  and  the  universe  less,  because  Time  and 
Space  relations  vanish  as  laws  are  known. 

Here  again  we  are  impressed  and  even  daunt 
ed  by  the  immense  Universe  to  be  explored. 
4  What  we  know,  is  a  point  to  what  we  do  not 
know.'  Open  any  recent  journal  of  science, 
and  weigh  the  problems  suggested  concerning 
Light,  Heat,  Electricity,  Magnetism,  Physiolo 
gy,  Geology,  and  judge  whether  the  interest  of 
natural  science  is  likely  to  be  soon  exhausted. 

Passing  by  many  particulars  of  the  discipline 
of  nature  we  must  not  omit  to  specify  two. 

The  exercise  of  the  Will  or  the  lesson  of 
power  is  taught  in  every  event.  From  the  child's 
successive  possession  of  his  several  senses  up  to 
the  hour  when  he  saith,  "  thy  will  be  done ! " 
he  is  learning  the  secret,  that  he  can  reduce 
under  his  will,  not  only  particular  events,  but 
great  classes,  nay  the  whole  series  of  events,  and 
so  conform  all  facts  to  his  character.  Nature 
is  thoroughly  mediate.  It  is  made  to  serve.  It 
receives  the  dominion  of  man  as  meekly  as  the 
ass  on  which  the  Saviour  rode.  It  offers  all  its 


DISCIPLINE.  51 

kingdoms  to  man  as  the  raw  material  which  he 
may  mould  into  what  is  useful.  Man  is  never 
weary  of  working  it  up.  He  forges  the  subtile 
and  delicate  air  into  wise  and  melodious  words, 
and  gives  them  wing  as  angels  of  persuasion 
and  command.  More  and  more,  with  every 
thought,  does  his  kingdom  stretch  over  things, 
until  the  world  becomes,  at  last,  only  a  realized 
will,  —  the  double  of  the  man. 

2.  Sensible  objects  conform  to  the  premoni 
tions  of  Reason  and  reflect  the  conscience. 
All  things  are  moral ;  and  in  their  boundless 
changes  have  an  unceasing  reference  to  spirit 
ual  nature.  Therefore  is  nature  glorious  with 
form,  color,  and  motion,  that  every  globe  in  the 
remotest  heaven;  every  chemical  change  from 
the  rudest  crystal  up  to  the  laws  of  life ;  every 
change  of  vegetation  from  the  first  principle  of 
growth  in  the  eye  of  a  leaf,  to  the  tropical  forest 
and  antediluvian  coal-mine  ;  every  animal  func 
tion  from  the  sponge  up  to  Hercules,  shall  hint 
or  thunder  to  man  the  laws  of  right  and  wrong, 
and  echo  the  Ten  Commandments.  Therefore 


52  DISCIPLINE. 

is  nature  always  the  ally  of  Religion :  lends  all 
her  pomp  and  riches  to  the  religious  sentiment. 
Prophet  and  priest,  David,  Isaiah,  Jesus,  have 
drawn  deeply  from  this  source. 

This  ethical  character  so  penetrates  the  bone 
and  marrow  of  nature,  as  to  seem  the  end  for 
which  it  was  made.  Whatever  private  purpose 
is  answered  by  any  member  or  part,  this  is  its 
public  and  universal  function,  and  is  never  omit 
ted.  Nothing  in  nature  is  exhausted  in  its  first 
use.  When  a  thing  has  served  an  end  to  the 
uttermost,  it  is  wholly  new  for  an  ulterior  ser 
vice.  In  God,  every  end  is  converted  into  a  new 
means.  Thus  the  use  of  Commodity,  regarded 
by  itself,  is  mean  and  squalid.  But  it  is  to  the 
mind  an  education  in  the  great  doctrine  of  Use, 
namely,  that  a  thing  is  good  only  so  far  as  it 
serves ;  that  a  conspiring  of  parts  and  efforts  to 
the  production  of  an  end,  is  essential  to  any 
being.  The  first  and  gross  manifestation  of  this 
truth,  is  our  inevitable  and  hated  training*,  in 
values  and  wants,  in  corn  and  meat 


DISCIPLINE.  53 

It  has  already  been  illustrated,  in  treating  of 
the  significance  of  material  things,  that  every 
natural  process  is  but  a  version  of  a  moral  sen 
tence.  The  moral  law  lies  at  the  centre  of  na 
ture  and  radiates  to  the  circumference.  It  is  the 
pith  and  marrow  of  every  substance,  every  rela 
tion,  and  every  process.  All  things  with  which 
we  deal,  preach  to  us.  What  is  a  farm  but  a 
mute  gospel  'I  The  chaff  and  the  wheat,  weeds 
and  plants,  blight,  rain,  insects,  sun,  —  it  is  a 
sacred  emblem  from  the  first  furrow  of  spring  to 
the  last  stack  which  the  snow  of  winter  over 
takes  in  the  fields.  But  the  sailor,  the  shepherd, 
the  miner,  the  merchant,  in  their  several  resorts, 
have  each  an  experience  precisely  parallel  and 
leading  to  the  same  conclusions.  Because  all 
organizations  are  radically  alike.  Nor  can  it  be 
doubted  that  this  moral  sentiment  which  thus 
scents  the  air,  and  grows  in  the  grain,  and  im 
pregnates  the  waters  of  the  world,  is  caught  by 

man   and  sinks  into  his  soul.     The   moral   in- 

i 

fluence  of  nature  upon  every  individual  is  that 
amount  of   truth   which  it   illustrates   to   him. 


/ 


/t. 

54  DISCIPLINE. 

Who  can  estimate  this?  Who  can  guess  how 
much  firmness  the  sea-beaten  rock  has  taught 
the  fisherman  1  how  much  tranquillity  has  been 
.  reflected  to  man  from  the  azure  sky,  over  whose 
unspotted  deeps  the  winds  forevermore  drive 
flocks  of  stormy  clouds,  and  leave  no  wrin 
kle  or  stain  ?  how  much  industry  and  pro 
vidence  and  affection  we  have  caught  from  the 
pantomime  of  brutes  ?  What  a  searching  preach 
er  of  self-command  is  the  varying  phenomenon 
of  Health  ! 

Herein  is  especially  apprehended  the  Unity  of 
Nature,  —  the  Unity  in  Variety,  —  which  meets 
us  everywhere.  All  the  endless  variety  of  things 
make  a  unique,  an  identical  impression.  Xeno- 
phanes  complained  in  his  old  age,  that,  look 
where  he  would,  all  things  hastened  back  to 
Unity.  He  was  weary  of  seeing  the  same  entity 
in  the  tedious  variety  of  forms.  The  fable  of 
Proteus  has  a  cordial  truth.  Every  particular 
in  nature,  a  leaf,  a  drop,  a  crystal,  a  momenj;  of 
time  is  related  to  the  whole,  and  partakes  of  the 
perfection  of  the  whole.  Each  particle  is  a  mi 


•«•    ^ 

DISCIPLINE.  55 

crocosm,  and  faithfully  renders  the  likeness  of 
the  world. 

Not  only  resemblances  exist  in  things  whose 
analogy  is  obvious,  as  when  we  detect  the  type 
of  the  human  hand  in  the  flipper  of  the  fossil 
saurus,  but  also  in  objects  wherein  there  is  great 
superficial  unlikeness.  Thus  architecture  is 
called  '  frozen  music/  by  De  Stael  and  Goethe. 
'  A  Gothic  church/  said  Coleridge,  '  is  a  petrified 
religion.'  Michael  Angelo  maintained,  that,  to 
an  architect,  a  knowledge  of  anatomy  is  essen 
tial.  In  Haydn's  oratorios,  the  notes  present  to 
the  imagination  not  only  motions,  as,  of  the 
snake,  the  stag,  and  the  elephant,  but  colors  also; 
as  the  green  grass.  The  granite  is  differenced 
in  its  laws  only  by  the  more  or  less  of  heat,  from 
the  river  that  wears  it  away.  The  river,  as  it 
flows,  resembles  the  air  that  flows  over  it ;  the 
air  resembles  the  light  which  traverses  it  with 
more  subtile  currents;  the  light  resembles  the 
heat  which  rides  with  it  through  Space.  Each 
creature  is  only  a  modification  of  the  other ;  the 
likeness  in  them  is  more  than  the  difference/  and 


56  DISCIPLINE. 

their  radical  law  is  one  and  the  same.  Hence  it 
is,  that  a  rule  of  one  art,  or  a  law  of  one  organ 
ization,  holds  true  throughout  nature.  So  in 
timate  is  this  Unity,  that,  it  is  easily  seen,  it  lies 
under  the  undermost  garment  of  nature,  and  be 
trays  its  source  in  universal  Spirit.  For,  it  per 
vades  Thought  also.  Every  universal  truth 
which  we  express  in  words,  implies  or  supposes 
every  other  truth.  Omne  verum  vero  consonat' 
It  is  like  a  great  circle  on  a  sphere,  comprising 
all  possible  circles ;  which,  however,  may  be 
drawn,  and  comprise  it,  in  like  manner.  Every 
such  truth  is  the  absolute  Ens  seen  from  one 
side.  But  it  has  innumerable  sides. 

The  same  central  Unity  is  still  more  conspic- 
ous  in  actions.  Words  are  finite  organs  of  the 
infinite  mind.  They  cannot  cover  the  dimen 
sions  of  what  is  in  truth.  They  break,  chop, 
and  impoverish  it.  An  action  is  the  perfection 
and  publication  of  thought.  A  right  action  seems 
to  fill  the  eye,  and  to  be  related  to  all  nature. 
"  The  wise  man,  in  doing  one  thing,  does  all ; 
or,  in  the  one  thing  he  does  rightly,  he  sees  the 
likeness  of  all  which  is  done  rightly." 


DISCIPLINE.  57 

Words  and  actions  are  not  the,  attributes  of 
mute  and  brute  nature.  They  introduce  us  to 
that  singular  form  which  predominates  over  all 
other  forms.  This  is  the  human.  All  other  or 
ganizations  appear  to  be  degradations  of  the 
human  form.  When  this  organization  appears 
among  so  many  that  surround  it,  the  spirit  pre 
fers  it  to  all  others.  It  says,  '  From  such  as 
this,  have  I  drawn  joy  and  knowledge.  In  such 
as  this,  have  I  found  and  beheld  myself.  I  will 
speak  to  it.  It  can  speak  again.  It  can  yield 
me  thought  already  formed  and  alive.'  In  fact, 
the  eye,  —  the  mind,  —  is  always  accompanied 
by  these  forms,  male  and  female ;  and  these  are 
incomparably  the  richest  informations  of  the 
power  and  order  that  lie  at  the  heart  of  things. 
Unfortunately,  every  one  of  them  bears  the  marks 
as  of  some  injury ;  is  marred  and  superficially 
defective.  Nevertheless,  far  different  from  the 
deaf  and  dumb  nature  around  them,  these  all 
rest  like  fountain-pipes  on  the  unfathomed  sea  of 
thought  and  virtue  whereto  they  alone,  of  all  or 
ganizations,  are  the  entrances. 
5 


5g  DISCIPLINE. 

It  were  a  pleasant  inquiry  to  follow  into  de 
tail  their  ministry  to  our  education,  but  where 
would  it  stop  ?  We  are  associated  in  adolescent 
and  adult  life  with  some  friends,  who,  like  skies 
and  waters,  are  coextensive  with  our  idea ;  who, 
answering  each  to  a  certain  affection  of  the  soul, 
satisfy  our  desire  on  that  side ;  whom  we  lack 
power  to  put  at  such  focal  distance  from  us,  that 
we  can  mend  or  even  analyze  them.  We  can 
not  chuse  but  love  them.  When  much  inter 
course  with  a  friend  has  supplied  us  with  a 
standard  of  excellence,  and  has  increased  our 
respect  for  the  resources  of  God  who  thus  sends 
a  real  person  to  outgo  our  ideal ;  when  he  has, 
moreover,  become  an  object  of  thought,  and, 
whilst  his  character  retains  all  its  unconscious 
effect,  is  converted  in  the  mind  into  solid  and 
sweet  wisdom,  —  it  is  a  sign  to  us  that  his  office 
is  closing,  and  he  is  commonly  withdrawn  from 
our  sight  in  a  short  time. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


IDEALISM. 


THUS  is  the  unspeakable  but  intelligible  and 
practicable  meaning  of  the  world  conveyed  to 
man,  the  immortal  pupil,  in  every  object  of  sense. 
To  this  one  end  of  Discipline,  all  parts  of  na 
ture  conspire. 

A  noble  doubt  perpetually  suggests  itself, 
whether  this  end  be  not  the  Final  Cause  of  the 

p 

Universe  ;  and  whether  nature  outwardly  exists. 
It  is  a  sufficient  account  of  that  Appearance  we 
call  the  World,  that  God  will  teach  a  human 
mind,  and  so  makes  it  the  receiver  of  a  certain 
number  of  congruent  sensations,  which  we  call 
sun  and  moon,  man  and  woman,  house  and  trade. 
In  my  utter  impotence  to  test  the  authenticity  of 
the  report  of  my  senses,  to  know  whether  the 
impressions  they  make  on  me  correspond  with 
outlying  objects,  what  difference  does  it  make, 
whether  Orion  is  up  there  in  heaven,  or  some 


60  IDEALISM. 

god  paints  the  image  in  the  firmament  of  the 
soul  ?  The  relations  of  parts  and  the  end  of 
the  whole  remaining  the  same,  what  is  the  dif 
ference,  whether  land  and  sea  interact,  and 
worlds  revolve  and  intermingle  without  number 
or  end,  —  deep  yawning  under  deep,  and  galaxy 
balancing  galaxy,  throughout  absolute  space,  or, 
whether,  without  relations  of  time  and  space, 
the  same  appearances  are  inscribed  in  the  con 
stant  faith  of  man.  Whether  nature  enjoy  a 
substantial  existence  without,  or  is  only  in  the 
apocalypse  of  the  mind,  it  is  alike  useful  and 
alike  venerable  to  me.  Be  it  what  it  may,  it  is 
ideal  to  me,  so  long  as  I  cannot  try  the  accuracy 
of  my  senses. 

The  frivolous  make  themselves  merry  with  the 
Ideal  theory,  as  if  its  consequences  were  bur 
lesque  ;  as  if  it  affected  the  stability  of  nature. 
It  surely  does  not.  God  never  jests  with  us,  and 
will  not  compromise  the  end  of  nature,  by  per 
mitting  any  inconsequence  in  its  procession. 
Any  distrust  of  the  permanence  of  laws,  would 
paralyze  the  faculties  of  man.  Their  perma- 


IDEALISM.  QI 

nence  is  sacredly  respected,  and  his  faith  therein 
is  perfect.  The  wheels  and  springs  of  man  are 
all  set  to  the  hypothesis  of  the  permanence  of 
nature.  We  are  not  built  like  a  ship  to  be  toss 
ed,  but  like  a  house  to  stand.  It  is  a  natural 
consequence  of  this  structure,  that,  so  long  as 
the  active  powers  predominate  over  the  reflective, 
we  resist  with  indignation  any  hint  that  nature 
is  more  short-lived  or  mutable  than  spirit.  The 
broker,  the  wheelwright,  the  carpenter,  the  toll 
man,  are  much  displeased  at  the  intimation. 

But  whilst  we  acquiesce  entirely  in  the  per 
manence  of  natural  laws,  the  question  of  the 
absolute  existence  of  nature,  still  remains  open. 
It  is  the  uniform  effect  of  culture  on  the  human 
mind,  not  to  shake  our  faith  in  the  stability  of 
particular  phenomena,  as  of  heat,  water,  azote  j 
but  to  lead  us  to  regard  nature  as  a  phenome 
non,  not  a  substance ;  to  attribute  necessary 
existence  to  spirit ;  to  esteem  nature  as  an  acci 
dent  and  an  effect. 

To  the  senses  and  the  unrenewed  understand 
ing,  belongs  a  sort  of  instinctive  belief  in  the 
5* 


62  IDEALISM. 

absolute    existence  of  nature.      In  their  view 

"*  *•  ' 

man  and  nature  are  iadissolubly  joined.     Things 

are  ultimates,  and  they  never  look  beyond  their 
sphere.  The  presence  of  Reason  mars  this 
faith.  The  first  effort  of  thought  tends  to  relax 
this  despotism  of  the  senses,  which  binds  us  to 
nature  as  if  we  were  a  part  of  it,  and  shows  us 
nature  aloof,  and,  as  it  were,  afloat.  Until  this 
higher  agency  intervened,  the  animal  eye  sees, 
with  wonderful  accuracy,  sharp  outlines  and  col 
ored  surfaces.  When  the  eye  of  Reason  opens, 
to  outline  and  surface  are  at  once  added,  grace 
and  expression.  These  proceed  from  imagina 
tion  and  affection,  and  abate  somewhat  of  the 
angular  distinctness  of  objects.  If  the  Reason 
be  stimulated  to  more  earnest  vision,  outlines 
and  surfaces  become  transparent,  and  are  no 
longer  seen  ;  causes  and  spirits  are  seen  through 
them.  The  best,  the  happiest  moments  of  life, 
are  these  delicious  awakenings  of  the  higher 
powers,  and  the  reverential  withdrawing  of  na 
ture  before  its  God. 


IDEALISM.  63 

Let  us  proceed  to  indicate  the  effects  of  cul 
ture.  1.  Our  first  institution  in  the  Ideal  philo 
sophy  is  a  hint  from  nature  herself. 

Nature  is  made  to  conspire  with  spirit  to  eman 
cipate  us.  Certain  mechanical  changes,  a  small 
alteration  in  our  local  position  apprizes  us  of  a 
dualism.  We  are  strangely  affected  by  seeing 
the  shore  from  a  moving  ship,  from  a  balloon,  or 
through  the  tints  of  an  unusual  sky.  The  least 
change  in  our  point  of  view,  gives  the  whole 
world  a  pictorial  air.  A  man  who  seldom  rides, 
needs  only  to  get  into  a  coach  and  traverse  his 
own  town,  to  turn  the  street  into  a  puppet-show. 
The  men,  the  women,  —  talking,  running,  bar 
tering,  fighting,  —  the  earnest  mechanic,  the 
lounger,  the  beggar,  the  boys,  the  dogs,  are  un 
realized  at  once,  or,  at  least,  wholly  detached 
from  all  relation  to  the  observer,  and  seen  as  ap 
parent,  not  substantial  beings.  What  new 
thoughts  are  suggested  by  seeing  a  face  of  coun 
try  quite  familiar,  in  the  rapid  movement  of  the 
rail-road  car  !  Nay,  the  most  wonted  objects, 
(make  a  very  slight  change  in  the  point  of  vis- 


64  IDEALISM. 

sion,)  please  us  most.  In  a  camera  obscura,  the 
butcher's  cart,  and  the  figure  of  one  of  our  own 
family  amuse  us.  So  a  protrait  of  a  well-known 
face  gratifies  us.  Turn  the  eyes  upside  down, 
by  looking  at  the  landscape  through  your  legs, 
and  how  agreeable  is  the  picture,  though  you 
have  seen  it  any  time  these  twenty  years  ! 

In  these  cases,  by  mechanical  means,  is  sug 
gested  the  difference  between  the  observer  and 
the  spectacle,  —  between  man  and  nature. 
Hence  arises  a  pleasure  mixed  with  awe ;  I  may 
say,  a  low  degree  of  the  sublime  is  felt  from  the 
fact,  probably,  that  man  is  hereby  apprized,  that, 
whilst  the  world  is  a  spectacle,  something  in 
himself  is  stable. 

2.  In  a  higher  manner,  the  poet  communicates 
the  same  pleasure.  By  a  few  strokes  he  deli 
neates,  as  on  air,  the  sun,  the  mountain,  the 
camp,  the  city,  the  hero,  the  maiden,  not  differ 
ent  from  what  we  know  them,  but  only  lifted 
from  the  ground  and  afloat  before  the  eye.  He 
unfixes  the  land  and  the  sea,  makes  them  revolve 
around  the  axis  of  his  primary  thought,  and  dis- 


IDEALISM.  65 

poses  them  anew.  Possessed  himself  by  a  he 
roic  passion,  he  uses  matter  as  symbols  of  it. 
The  sensual  man  conforms  thoughts  to  things ; 
the  poet  conforms  things  to  his  thoughts.  The 
one  esteems  nature  as  rooted  and  fast ;  the 
other,  as  fluid,  and  impresses  his  being  thereon. 
To  him,  the  refractory  world  is  ductile  and 
flexible;  he  invests  dust  and  stones  with  hu 
manity,  and  makes  them  the  words  of  the 
Reason.  The  imagination  may  be  defined  to 
be,  the  use  which  the  Reason  makes  of  the 
material  world.  Shakspeare  possesses  the  power 
of  subordinating  nature  for  the  purposes  of 
expression,  beyond  all  poets.  His  imperial  muse 
tosses  the  creation  like  a  bauble  from  hand  to 
hand,  to  embody  any  capricious  shade  of  thought 
that  is  uppermost  in  his  mind.  The  remotest 
spaces  of  nature  are  visited,  and  the  farthest 
sundered  things  are  brought  together,  by  a 
subtile  spiritual  connexion.  We  are  made  aware 
that  magnitude  of  material  things  is  merely 
relative,  and  all  objects  shrink  and  expand  to 
serve  the  passion  of  the  poet.  Thus,  in  his 


66  IDEALISM. 

sonnets,  the  lays  of  birds,  the  scents  and  dyes 
of  flowers,  he  finds  to  be  the  shadow  of  his 
beloved ;  time,  which  keeps  her  from  him,  is 
his  chest ;  the  suspicion  she  has  awakened,  is 
her  ornament ; 

The  ornament  of  beauty  is  Suspect, 

A  crow  which  flies  in  heaven's  sweetest  air. 

His  passion  is  not  the  fruit  of  chance;  it 
swells,  as  he  speaks,  to  a  city,  or  a  state. 

No,  it  was  builded  far  from  accident ; 

It  suffers  not  in  smiling  pomp,  nor  falls 

Under  the  brow  of  thralling  discontent; 

It  fears  not  policy,  that  heretic, 

That  works  on  leases  of  short  numbered  hours, 

But  all  alone  stands  hugely  politic. 

.       ^;:*. 

In  the  strength  of  his  constancy,  the  Pyra 
mids  seem  to  him  recent  and  transitory.  And 
the  freshness  of  youth  and  love  dazzles  him 
with  its  resemblance  to  morning. 

Take  those  lips  away 
Which  so  sweetly  were  forsworn  ; 
And  those  eyes,  —  the  break  of  day, 
Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn. 


IDEALISM.  67 

The  wild  beauty  of  this  hyperbole,  I  may 
say,  in  passing,  it  would  not  be  easy  to  match 
in  literature. 

This  transfiguration  which  all  material  objects 
undergo  through  the  passion  of  the  poet, — 
this  power  which  he  exerts,  at  any  moment,  to 
magnify  the  small,  to  micrify  the  great,  —  might 
be  illustrated  by  a  thousand  examples  from  his 
Plays.  I  have  before  me  the  Tempest,  and  will 
cite  only  these  few  lines.  "•  k 

ARIEL.     The  strong  based  promontory 

Have  I  made  shake,  and  by  the  spurs  plucked  up 
The  pine  and  cedar. 

Prospero   calls   for  music  to    sooth  the  frantic 
Alonzo,  and  his  companions  ; 

A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comforter 
To  an  unsettled  fancy,  cure  thy  brains 
Now  useless,  boiled  within  thy  skull. 

Again  ; 

The  charm  dissolves  apace 
And,  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 
Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 
Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason. 


•*  * 


68  IDEALISM. 

Their  understanding 

Begins  to  swell :  and  the  approaching  tide 
Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shores 
That  now  lie  foul  and  muddy. 

The  perception  of  real  affinities  between 
events,  (that  is  to  say,  of  ideal  affinities,  for 
those  only  are  real,)  enables  the  poet  thus  to 
make  free  with  the  most  imposing  forms  and 
phenomena  of  the  world,  and  to  assert  the  pre 
dominance  of  the  soul. 

3.  Whilst  thus  the  poet  delights  us  by  animat- 
ing  nature  like  a  creator,  with  his  own  thoughts, 
he  differs  from  the  philosopher  only  herein, 
that  the  one  proposes  Beauty  as  his  main  end  ; 
the  other  Truth.  But,  the  philosopher,  not  less 
than  the  poet,  postpones  the  apparent  order  and 
relations  of  things  to  the  empire  of  thought. 
"  The  problem  of  philosophy,"  according  to 
Plato,  "  is,  for  all  that  exists  conditionally,  to 
find  a  ground  unconditioned  and  absolute."  It 
proceeds  on  the  faith  that  a  law  determines  all 
phenomena,  which  being  known,  the  phenome 
na  can  be  predicted.  That  law,  when  in  the 


fc    f 


IDEALISM.  69 

mind,  is  an  idea.  Its  beauty  is  infinite.  The 
true  philosopher  and  the  true  poet  are  one,  and 
a  beauty,  which  is  truth,  and  a  truth,  which  is 
beauty,  is  the  aim  of  both.  Is  not  the  charm  of 
one  of  Plato's  or  Aristotle's  definitions,  strictly 
like  that  of  the  Antigone  of  Sophocles  ?  It 
is,  in  both  cases,  that  a  spiritual  life  has  been 

imparted  to  nature  ;  that  the  solid  seeming  block 

••p    ^ 

of  matter  has  been  pervaded  and  dissolved  by 
a  thought  ;  that  this  feeble  human  being  has 
penetrated  the  vast  masses  of  nature  with  an 

informing   soul,   and  recognised   itself  in    their 

.  -  ?     .  j.  *  . 

harmony,  that  is,  seized  their  law.  In  physics, 
when  this  is  attained,  the  memory  disburthens 
itself  of  its  cumbrous  catalogues  of  particulars, 
and  carries  centuries  of  observation  in  a  single 

formula. 

•  ***"'*»*'•  •  '" 

Thus  even  in  physics,   the  material  is  ever 

degraded  before  the  spiritual.  The  astronomer, 
the  geometer,  rely  on  their  irrefragable  analysis, 
and  disdain  the  results  of  observation.  The 
sublime  remark  of  Euler  on  his  law  of  arches, 
"  This  will  be  found  contrary  to  all  experience, 
6 


70  IDEALISM. 

yet  is  true  ; "  had  already  transferred  nature 
into  the  mind,  and  left  matter  like  an  outcast 
corpse. 

4.  Intellectual  science  has  been  observed  to 
beget  invariably  a  doubt  of  the  existence  of 
matter.  Turgot  said,  "  He  that  has  never 
doubted  the  existence  of  matter,  may  be  assured 
he  has  no  aptitude  for  metaphysical  inquiries." 
It  fastens  the  attention  upon  immortal  necessary 
uncreated  natures,  that  is,  upon  Ideas ;  and  in 
their  beautiful  and  majestic  presence,  we  feel 
that  our  outward  being  is  a  dream  and  a  shade. 
Whilst  we  wait  in  this  Olympus  of  gods,  we 
think  of  nature  as  an  appendix  to  the  soul. 
We  ascend  into  their  region,  and  know  that 
these  are  the  thoughts  of  the  Supreme  Being. 
"  These  are  they  who  were  set  up  from  everlast 
ing,  from  the  beginning,  or  ever  the  earth  was. 
When  he  prepared  the  heavens,  they  were  there  ; 
when  he  established  the  clouds  above,  when  he 
strengthened  the  fountains  of  the  deep.  Then 
they  were  by  him,  as  one  brought  up  with  him. 
Of  them  took  he  counsel." 


IDEALISM.  71 

Their  influence  is  proportionate.  As  objects 
of  science,  they  are  accessible  to  few  men.  Yet 
all  men  are  capable  of  being  raised  by  piety  or 
by  passion,  into  their  region.  And  no  man 
touches  these  divine  natures,  without  becoming, 
in  some  degree,  himself  divine.  Like  a  new 
soul,  they  renew  the  body.  We  become  physi 
cally  nimble  and  lightsome;  we  tread  on  air; 
life  is  no  longer  irksome,  and  we  think  it  will 
never  be  so.  No  man  fears  age  or  misfortune 
or  death,  in  their  serene  company,  for  he  is 
transported  out  of  the  district  of  change. 
Whilst  we  behold  unveiled  the  nature  of  Justice 
and  Truth,  we  learn  the  difference  between  the 
absolute  and  the  conditional  or  relative.  We 
apprehend  the  absolute.  As  it  were,  for  the 
first  time,  we  exist.  We  become  immortal,  for 
we  learn  that  time  and  space  are  relations  of 
matter;  that,  with  a  perception  of  truth,  or  a 
virtuous  will,  they  have  no  affinity. 

5.  Finally,  religion  and  ethics,  which  may  be 
fitly  called,  —  the  practice  of  ideas,  or  the  in 
troduction  of  ideas  into  life,  —  have  an  analo- 


72  IDEALISM. 

gous  effect  with  all  lower  culture,  in  degrading 
nature  and  suggesting  its  dependence  on  spirit. 
Ethics  and  religion  differ  herein ;  that  the  one 
is  the  system  of  human  duties  commencing  from 
man;  the  other,  from  God.  Religion  includes 
the  personality  of  God  ;  Ethics  does  not.  They 
are  one  to  our  present  design.  They  both  put 
nature  under  foot.  The  first  and  last  lesson  of 
religion  is,  "  The  things  that  are  seen,  are 
temporal ;  the  things  that  are  unseen  are  eter 
nal."  It  puts  an  affront  upon  nature.  It  does 
that  for  the  unschooled,  which  philosophy  does 
for  Berkeley  and  Viasa.  The  uniform  language 
that  may  be  heard  in  the  churches  of  the  most 
ignorant  sects,  is,  —  *  Contemn  the  unsubstan 
tial  shows  of  the  world;  they  are  vanities, 
dreams,  shadows,  unrealities ;  seek  the  realities 
of  religion.'  The  devotee  flouts  nature.  Some 
theosophists  have  arrived  at  a  certain  hostility 
and  indignation  towards  matter,  as  the  Mani- 
chean  and  Plotinus.  They  distrusted  in  them 
selves  any  looking  back  to  these  flesh-pots  of 
Egypt.  Plotinus  was  ashamed  of  his  body.  In 


IDEALISM.  73 

short,  they  might  all  better  say  of  matter,  what 
Michael  Angelo  said  of  external  beauty,  "  it  is 
the  frail  and  weary  weed,  in  which  God  dresses 
the  soul,  which  he  has  called  into  time." 

It  appears  that  motion,  poetry,  physical  and 
intellectual  science,  and  religion,  all.  tend  to 
affect  our  convictions  of  the  reality  of  the  ex 
ternal  world.  But  I  own  there  is  something 
ungrateful  in  expanding  too  curiously  the  par 
ticulars  of  the  general  proposition,  that  all  cul 
ture  tends  to  imbue  us  with  idealism.  I  have 
no  hostility  to  nature,  but  a  child's  love  to  it. 
I  expand  and  live  in  the  warm  day  like  corn  and 
melons.  Let  us  speak  her  fair.  I  do  not  wish 
to  fling  stones  at  my  beautiful  mother,  nor  soil 
my  gentle  nest.  I  only  wish  to  indicate  the 
true  position  of  nature  in  regard  to  man,  where 
in  to  establish  man,  all  right  education  tends  ; 
as  the  ground  which  to  attain  is  the  object  of 
human  life,  that  is,  of  man's  connexion  with 
nature.  Culture  inverts  the  vulgar  views  of  na 
ture,  and  brings  the  mind  to  call  that  apparent, 
which  it  uses  to  call  real,  and  that  real,  which 
6* 


74  IDEALISM. 

it  uses  to  call  visionary.  Children,  it  is  true, 
believe  in  the  external  world.  The  belief  that 
it  appears  only,  is  an  afterthought,  but  with  cul 
ture,  this  faith  will  as  surely  arise  on  the  mind 
as  did  the  first. 

The  advantage  of  the  ideal  theory  over  the 
popular  faith,  is  this,  that  it  presents  the  world 
in  precisely  that  view  which  is  most  desirable  to 
the  mind.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  view  which  Reason, 
both  speculative  and  practical,  that  is,  philoso 
phy  and  virtue,  take.  For,  seen  in  the  light  of 
thought,  the  world  always  is  phenomenal ;  and 
virtue  subordinates  it  to  the  mind.  Idealism 
sees  the  world  in  God.  It  beholds  the  whole 
circle  of  persons  and  things,  of  actions  and 
events,  of  country  and  religion,  not  as  painfully 
accumulated,  atom  after  atom,  act  after  act,  in 
an  aged  creeping  Past,  but  as  one  vast  picture, 
which  God  paints  on  the  instant  eternity,  for 
the  contemplation  of  the  soul.  Therefore  the 
soul  holds  itself  off  from  a  too  trivial  and  mi 
croscopic  study  of  the  universal  *  tablet.  It 
respects  the  end  too  much,  to  immerse  itself  in 


IDEALISM.  75 

the  means.  It  sees  something  more  important 
in  Christianity,  than  the  scandals  of  ecclesiasti 
cal  history  or  the  niceties  of  criticism ;  and, 
very  incurious  concerning  persons  or  miracles, 
and  not  at  all  disturbed  by  chasms  of  historical 
evidence,  it  accepts  from  God  the  phenomenon, 
as  it  finds  it,  as  the  pure  and  awful  form  of  re 
ligion  in  the  world.  It  is  not  hot  and  passionate 
at  the  appearance  of  what  it  calls  its  own  good 
or  bad  fortune,  at  the  union  or  opposition  of 
other  persons.  No  man  is  its  enemy.  It  ac 
cepts  whatsoever  befals,  as  part  of  its  lesson.  It 
is  a  watcher  more  than  a  doer,  and  it  is  a  doer, 
only  that  it  may  the  better  watch. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

SPIRIT. 

IT  is  essential  to  a  true  theory  of  nature  and 
of  man,  that  it  should  contain  somewhat  pro 
gressive.  Uses  that  are  exhausted  or  that  may 
be,  and  facts  that  end  in  the  statement,  cannot 
be  all  that  is  true  of  this  brave  lodging  wherein 
man  is  harbored,  and  wherein  all  his  faculties 
find  appropriate  and  endless  exercise.  And  all 
the  uses  of  nature  admit  of  being  summed  in 
one,  which  yields  the  activity  of  man  an  infinite 
scope.  Through  all  its  kingdoms,  to  the  suburbs 
and  outskirts  of  things,  it  is  faithful  to  the  cause 
whence  it  had  its  origin.  It  always  speaks  of 
Spirit.  It  suggests  the  absolute.  It  is  a  per 
petual  effect.  It  is  a  great  shadow  pointing 
always  to  the  sun  behind  us. 

The  aspect  of  nature  is  devout.  Like  the 
figure  of  Jesus,  she  stands  with  bended  head, 
and  hands  folded  upon  the  breast.  The  happiest 


SPIRIT.  77 

man  is  he  who  learns* from  nature  the  lesson  of 
worship. 

Of  that  ineffable  essence  which  we  call  Spirit, 
he  that  thinks  most,  will  say  least.  We  can 
foresee  God  in  the  coarse  and,  as  it  were,  distant 
phenomena  of  matter;  but  when  we  try  to  define 
and  describe  himself,  both  language  and  thought 
desert  us,  and  we  are  as  helpless  as  fools  and 
savages.  That  essence  refuses  to  be  recorded  in 
propositions,  but  when  man  has  worshipped  him 
intellectually,  the  noblest  ministry  of  nature  is 
to  stand  as  the  apparition  of  God.  It  is  the 
great  organ  through  which  the  universal  spirit 
speaks  to  the  individual,  and  strives  to  lead  back 
the  individual  to  it. 

When  we  consider  Spirit,  we  see  that  the 
views  already  presented  do  not  include  the 
whole  circumference  of  man.  We  must  add 
some  related  thoughts. 

Three  problems  are  put  by  nature  to  the 
mind ;  What  is  matter  ?  Whence  is  it  1  and 
Whereto  ?  The  first  of  these  questions  only, 
the  ideal  theory  answers.  Idealism  saith  :  mat- 


78  SPIRIT. 

ter  is  a  phenomenon,  not  a  substance.  Idealism 
acquaints  us  with  the  total  disparity  between  the 
evidence  of  our  own  being,  and  the  evidence 
of  the  world's  being.  The  one  is  perfect ;  the 
other,  incapable  of  any  assurance ;  the  mind  is  a 
part  of  the  nature  of  things ;  the  world  is  a 
divine  dream,  from  which  we  may  presently 
awake  to  the  glories  and  certainties  of  day. 
Idealism  is  a  hypothesis  to  account  for  nature 
by  other  principles  than  those  of  carpentry  and 
chemistry.  Yet,  if  it  only  deny  the  existence  of 
matter,  it  does  not  satisfy  the  demands  of  the 
spirit.  It  leaves  God  out  of  me.  It  leaves  me 
in  the  splendid  labyrinth  of  my  perceptions,  to 
wander  without  end.  Then  the  heart  resists  it, 
because  it  baulks  the  affections  in  denying  sub 
stantive  being  to  men  and  women.  Nature  is 
so  pervaded  with  human  life,  that  there  is  some 
thing  of  humanity  in  all,  and  in  every  particular. 
But  this  theory  makes  nature  foreign  to  me,  and 
does  not  account  for  that  consanguinity  which 
we  acknowledge  to  it. 


SPIRIT.  79 

Let  it  stand  then,  in  the  present  state  of  our 
knowledge,  merely  as  a  useful  introductory 
hypothesis,  serving  to  apprize  us  of  the  eternal 
distinction  between  the  soul  and  the  world. 

But  when,  following  the  invisible  steps  of 
thought,  we  come  to  inquire,  Whence  is  matter  ? 
and  Whereto?  many  truths  arise  to  us  out  of 
the  recesses  of  consciousness.  We  learn  that 
the  highest  is  present  to  the  soul  of  man,  that 
the  dread  universal  essence,  which  is  not  wis 
dom,  or  love,  or  beauty,  or  power,  but  all  in 
one,  and  each  entirely,  is  that  for  which  all 
things  exist,  and  that  by  which  they  are ;  that 
spirit  creates ;  that  behind  nature,  throughout 
nature,  spirit  is  present ;  that  spirit  is  one  and 
not  compound ;  that  spirit  does  not  act  upon  us 
from  without,  that  is,  in  space  and  time,  but 
spiritually,  or  through  ourselves.  Therefore, 
that  spirit,  that  is,  the  Supreme  Being,  does  not 
build  up  nature  around  us,  but  puts  it  forth 
through  us,  as  the  life  of  the  tree  puts  forth  new 
branches  and  leaves  through  the  pores  of  the 
old.  As  a  plant  upon  the  earth,  so  a  man  rests 


80  SPIRIT. 

upon  the  bosom  of  God;  he  is  nourished  by 
unfailing  fountains,  and  draws,  at  his  need,  inex 
haustible  power.  Who  can  set  bounds  to  the 
possibilities  of  man  ?  Once  inspire  the  infinite, 
by  being  admitted  to  behold  the  absolute  natures 
of  justice  and  truth,  and  we  learn  that  man  has 
access  to  the  entire  mind  of  the  Creator,  is  him 
self  the  creator  in  the  finite.  This  view,  which 
admonishes  me  where  the  sources  of  wisdom 
and  power  lie,  and  points  to  virtue  as  to 

"  The  golden  key 
Which  opes  the  palace  of  eternity," 

carries  upon  its  face  the  highest  certificate  of 
truth,  because  it  animates  me  to  create  my  own 
world  through  the  purification  of  my  soul. 

The  world  proceeds  from  the  same  spirit  as 
the  body  of  man.  It  is  a  remoter  and  inferior 
incarnation  of  God,  a  projection  of  God  in  the 
uncoYiscious.  But  it  differs  from  the  body  in 
one  important  respect.  It  is  not,  like  that,  now 
subjected  to  the  human  will.  Its  serene  order 
is  inviolable  by  us.  It  is  therefore,  to  us,  the 
present  expositor  of  the  divine  mind.  It  is  a 


SPIRIT.  81 

fixed  point  whereby  we  may  measure  our  depart 
ure.  As  we  degenerate,  the  contrast  between 
us  and  our  house  is  more  evident.  We  are  as 
much  strangers  in  nature,  as  we  are  aliens  from 
God.  We  do  not  understand  the  notes  of  birds. 
The  fox  and  the  deer  run  away  from  us ;  the 
bear  and  tiger  rend  us.  We  do  not  know  the 
uses  of  more  than  a  few  plants,  as  corn  and  the 
appJe,  the  potato  and  the  vine.  Is  not  the  land 
scape,  every  glimpse  of  which  hath  a  grandeur, 
a  face  of  him  ?  Yet  this  may  show  us  what 
discord  is  between  man  and  nature,  for  you  can 
not  freely  admire  a  noble  landscape,  if  laborers 
are  digging  in  the  field  hard  by.  The  poet  finds 
something  ridiculous  in  his  delight,  until  he  is 
out  of  the  sight  of  men. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

PROSPECTS. 

IN  inquiries  respecting  the  laws  of  the  world 
and  the  frame  of  things,  the  highest  reason  is 
always  the  truest.  That  which  seems  faintly 
possible  —  it  is  so  refined,  is  often  faint  and  dim 
because  it  is  deepest  seated  in  the  mind  among 
the  eternal  verities.  Empirical  science  is  apt 
to  cloud  the  sight,  and,  by  the  very  knowledge  of 
functions  and  processes,  to  bereave  the  student 
of  the  manly  contemplation  of  the  whole.  The 
savant  becomes  unpoetic.  But  the  best  read 
naturalist  who  lends  an  entire  and  devout  atten 
tion  to  truth,  will  see  that  there  remains  much 
to  learn  of  his  relation  to  the  world,  and  that  it 
is  not  to  be  learned  by  any  addition  or  subtrac 
tion  or  other  comparison  of  known  quantities, 
but  is  arrived  at  by  untaught  sallies  of  the  spirit, 
by  a  continual  self-recovery,  and  by  entire 
humility.  He  will  perceive  that  there  are  far 


PROSPECTS.  83 

more  excellent  qualities  in  the  student  than 
preciseness  and  infallibility;  that  a  guess  ii 
often  more  fruitful  than  an  indisputable  affirma 
tion,  and  that  a  dream  may  let  us  deeper  into 
the  secret  of  nature  than  a  hundred  concerted 
experiments. 

For,  the  problems  to  be  solved  are  precisely 
those  which  the  physiologist  and  the  naturalist 
omit  to  state.  It  is  not  so  pertinent  to  man  to 
know  all  the  individuals  of  the  animal  kingdom, 
as  it  is  to  know  whence  and  whereto  is  this 
tyrannizing  unity  in  his  constitution,  which  ever 
more  separates  and  classifies  things,  endeavour 
ing  to  reduce  the  most  diverse  to  one  form. 
When  I  behold  a  rich  landscape,  it  is  less  to  my 
purpose  to  recite  correctly  the  order  and  super 
position  of  the  strata,  than  to  know  why  all 
thought  of  multitude  is  lost  in  a  tranquil  sense 
of  unity.  I  cannot  greatly  honor  minuteness  in 
details,  so  long  as  there  is  no  hint  to  explain  the 
relation  between  things  and  thoughts ;  no  ray 
upon  the  metaphysics  of  conchology,  of  botany, 
of  the  arts,  to  show  the  relation  of  the  forms  ol 


84  PROSPECTS. 

flowers,  shells,  animals,  architecture,  to  the 
mind,  and  build  science  upon  ideas.  In  a  cabi 
net  of  natural  history,  we  become  sensible  of  a 
certain  occult  recognition  and  sympathy  in  re 
gard  to  the  most  bizarre  forms  of  beast,  fish, 
and  insect.  The  American  who  has  been  con 
fined,  in  his  own  country,  to  the  sight  of  build 
ings  designed  after  foreign  models,  is  surprised 
on  entering  York  Minster  or  St.  Peter's  at 
Rome,  by  the  feeling  that  these  structures  are 
imitations  also,  —  faint  copies  of  an  invisible 
archetype.  Nor  has  science  sufficient  humanity, 
so  long  as  the  naturalist  overlooks  that  wonder 
ful  congruity  which  subsists  between  man  and 
the  world  ;  of  which  he  is  lord,  not  because  he 
is  the  most  subtile  inhabitant,  but  because  he  is 
its  head  and  heart,  and  finds  something  of  him 
self  in  every  great  and  small  thing,  in  every 
mountain  stratum,  in  every  new  law  of  color, 
fact  of  astronomy,  or  atmospheric  influence 
which  observation  or  analysis  lay  open.  A  per 
ception  of  this  mystery  inspires  the  muse  of 
George  Herbert,  the  beautiful  psalmist  of  the 


PROSPECTS.  85 

seventeenth  century.     The  following   lines  are 
part  of  his  little  poem  on  Man. 

"  Man  is  all  symmetry, 
Full  of  proportions,  one  limb  to  another, 

And  to  all  the  world  besides. 

Each  part  may  call  the  farthest,  brother; 
For  head  with  foot  hath  private  amity, 

And  both  with  moons  and  tides. 

"  Nothing  hath  got  so  far 
But  man  hath  caught  and  kept  it  as  his  prey; 

His  eyes  dismount  the  highest  star ; 

He  is  in  little  all  the  sphere. 
Herbs  gladly  cure  our  flesh,  because  that  they 

Find  their  acquaintance  there. 

"  For  us,  the  winds  do  blow, 
The  earth  doth  rest,  heaven  move,  and  fountains  flow  ; 

Nothing  we  see,  but  means  our  good, 

As  our  delight,  or  as  our  treasure  ; 
The  whole  is  either  our  cupboard  of  food, 

Or  cabinet  of  pleasure. 

"  The  stars  have  us  to  bed  : 

Night  draws  the  curtain  ;  which  the  sun  withdraws. 
Music  and  light  attend  our  head. 

7* 


86  PROSPECTS. 

All  things  unto  our  flesh  are  kind, 
In  their  descent  and  being ;  to  our  mind, 
In  their  ascent  and  cause. 

-•  More  servants  wait  on  man 
Than  he  '11  take  notice  of.    In  every  path, 

He  treads  down  that  which  doth  befriend  him 

When  sickness  makes  him  pale  and  wan. 
Oh  mighty  love  !  Man  is  one  world,  and  hath 

Another  to  attend  him." 

The  perception  of  this  class  of  truths  makes 
the  eternal  attraction  which  draws  men  to  sci 
ence,  but  the  end  is  lost  sight  of  in  attention  to 
the  means.  In  view  of  this  half-sight  of  sci 
ence,  we  accept  the  sentence  of  Plato,  that, 
"  poetry  comes  nearer  to  vital  truth  than  his 
tory."  Every  surmise  and  vaticination  of  the 
mind  is  entitled  to  a  certain  respect,  and  we 
learn  to  prefer  imperfect  theories,  and  sentences, 
which  contain  glimpses  of  truth,  to  digested 
systems  which  have  no  one  valuable  suggestion. 
A  wise  writer  will  feel  that  the  ends  of  study 
and  composition  are  best  answered  by  announc 
ing  undiscovered  regions  of  thought,  and  so 


PROSPECTS.  87 

communicating,  through  hope,  new  activity  to 
the  torpid  spirit. 

I  shall  therefore  conclude  this  essay  with 
some  traditions  of  man  and  nature,  which  a 
certain  poet  sang  to  me ;  and  which,  as  they 
have  always  been  in  the  world,  and  perhaps 
reappear  to  every  bard,  may  be  both  history  and 
prophecy, 

''  The  foundations  of  man  are  not  in  matter, 
but  in  spirit.  But  the  element  of  spirit  is  eter 
nity.  To  it,  therefore,  the  longest  series  of 
events,  the  oldest  chronologies  are  young  and 
recent.  In  the  cycle  of  the  universal  man, 
from  whom  the  known  individuals  proceed, 
centuries  are  points,  and  all  history  is  but  the 
epoch  of  one  degradation. 

'  We  distrust  and  deny  inwardly  our  sympathy 
with  nature.  We  own  and  disown  our  relation 
to  it,  by  turns.  We  are,  like  Nebuchadnezzar, 
dethroned,  bereft  of  reason,  and  eating  grass 
like  an  ox.  But  who  can  set  limits  to  the  reme 
dial  force  of  spirit  ? 


88  PROSPECTS. 

'  A  man  is  a  god  in  ruins.  When  men  are 
innocent,  life  shall  be  longer,  and  shall  pass 
into  the  immortal,  as  gently  as  we  awake  from 
dreams.  Now,  the  world  would  be  insane  and 
rabid,  if  these  disorganizations  should  last  for 
hundreds  of  years.  It  is  kept  in  check  by 
death  and  infancy.  Infancy  is  the  perpetual 
Messiah,  which  comes  into  the  arms  of  fallen 
men,  and  pleads  with  them  to  return  to  para 
dise. 

*  Man  is  the  dwarf  of  himself.  Once  he  was 
permeated  and  dissolved  by  spirit.  He  filled 
nature  with  his  overflowing  currents.  Out  from 
him  sprang  the  sun  and  moon ;  from  man,  the 
sun  ;  from  woman,  the  moon.  The  laws  of  his 
mind,  the  periods  of  his  actions  externized 
themselves  into  day  and  night,  into  the  year  and 
the  seasons.  But,  having  made  for  himself  this 
huge  shell,  his  waters  retired;  he  no  longer  fills 
the  veins  and  veinlets ;  he  is  shrunk  to  a  drop. 
He  sees,  that  the  structure  still  fits  him,  but  fits 
him  colossally.  Say,  rather,  once  it  fitted  him, 
now  it  corresponds  to  him  from  far  and  on  high. 


PROSPECTS.  gg 

He  adores  timidly  his  own  work.  Now  is  man 
the  follower  of  the  sun,  and  woman  the  follower 
of  the  moon.  Yet  sometimes  he  starts  in  his 
slumber,  and  wonders  at  himself  and  his  house, 
and  muses  strangely  at  the  resemblance  betwixt 
him  and  it.  He  perceives  that  if  his  law  is  still 
paramount,  if  still  he  have  elemental  power,  "  if 
his  word  is  sterling  yet  in  nature,"  it  is  riot  con 
scious  power,  it  is  not  inferior  but  superior  to 
his  will.  It  is  Instinct.'  Thus  my  Orphic  poet 
sang. 

At  present,  man  applies  to  nature  but  half  his 
force.  He  works  on  the  world  with  his  under 
standing  alone.  He  lives  in  it,  and  masters  it 
by  a  penny-wisdom  ;  and  he  that  works  most  in  it, 
is  but  a  half-man,  and  whilst  his  arms  are  strong 
and  his  digestion  good,  his  mind  is  imbruted 
and  he  is  a  selfish  savage.  His  relation  to  na 
ture,  his  power  over  it,  is  through  the  under 
standing  ;  as  by  manure ;  the  economic  use  of 
fire,  wind,  water,  and  the  mariner's  needle ; 
steam,  coal,  chemical  agriculture ;  the  repairs 
of  the  human  body  by  the  dentist  and  the  sur- 


90  PROSPECTS. 

geon.  This  is  such  a  resumption  of  power,  as 
if  a  banished  king  should  buy  his  territories 
inch  by  inch,  instead  of  vaulting  at  once  into 
his  throne.  Meantime,  in  the  thick  darkness, 
there  are  not  wanting  gleams  of  a  better  light, 
—  occasional  examples  of  the  action  of  man 
upon  nature  with  his  entire  force,  —  with  reason 
as  well  as  understanding.  Such  examples  are ; 
the  traditions  of  miracles  in  the  earliest  antiqui 
ty  of  all  nations;  the  history  of  Jesus  Christ; 
the  achievements  of  a  principle,  as  in  religious 
and  political  revolutions,  and  in  the  abolition  of 
the  Slave-trade ;  the  miracles  of  enthusiasm,  as 
those  reported  of  Swedenborg,  Hohenlohe,  and 
the  Shakers ;  many  obscure  and  yet  contested 
facts,  now  arranged  under  the  name  of  Animal 
Magnetism;  prayer;  eloquence;  self-healing; 
and  the  wisdom  of  children.  These  are  exam 
ples  of  Reason's  momentary  grasp  of  the  scep 
tre  ;  the  exertions  of  a  power  which  exists  not 
in  time  or  space,  but  an  instantaneous  in-stream 
ing  causing  power.  The  difference  between 
the  actual  and  the  ideal  force  of  man  is  happi- 


PROSPECTS.  91 

ly  figured  by  the  schoolmen,  in  saying,  that  the 
knowledge  of  man  is  an  evening  knowledge, 
vespertina  cognitio,  but  that  of  God  is  a  morn 
ing  knowledge,  mat utina  cognitio. 

The  problem  of  restoring  to  the  world  origi 
nal  and  eternal  beauty,  is  solved  by  the  redemp 
tion  of  the  soul.  The  ruin  or  the  blank,  that 
we  see  when  we  look  at  nature,  is  in  our  own 
eye.  The  axis  of  vision  is  not  coincident  with 
the  axis  of  things,  and  so  they  appear  not  trans 
parent  but  opake.  The  reason  why  the  world 
lacks  unity,  and  lies  broken  and  in  heaps,  is, 
because  man  is  disunited  with  himself.  He 
cannot  be  a  naturalist,  until  he  satisfies  all  the 
demands  of  the  spirit.  Love  is  as  much  its 
demand,  as  perception.  Indeed,  neither  can  be 
perfect  without  the  other.  In  the  uttermost 
meaning  of  the  words,  thought  is  devout,  and 
devotion  is  thought.  Deep  calls  unto  deep. 
But  in  actual  life,  the  marriage  is  not  celebrated. 
There  are  innocent  men  who  worship  God  after 
the  tradition  of  their  fathers,  but  their  sense  of 
duty  has  not  yet  extended  to  the  use  of  all  their 


92  PROSPECTS. 

faculties.  And  there  are  patient  naturalists, 
but  they  freeze  their  subject  under  the  wintry 
light  of  the  understanding.  Is  not  prayer  also 
a  study  of  truth, —  a  sally  of  the  soul  into  the 
unfound  infinite  ?  No  man  ever  prayed  heartily, 
without  learning  something.  But  when  a  faith 
ful  thinker,  resolute  to  detach  every  object  from 
personal  relations,  and  see  it  in  the  light  of 
thought,  shall,  at  the  same  time,  kindle  science 
with  the  fire  of  the  holiest  affections,  then  will 
God  go  forth  anew  into  the  creation. 

It  will  not  need,  when  the  mind  is  prepared 
for  study,  to  search  for  objects.  The  invariable 
mark  of  wisdom  is  to  see  the  miraculous  in  the 
common.  What  is  a  day  ?  What  is  a  year  ? 
What  is  summer  ?  What  is  woman  ?  What  is  a 
child?  What  is  sleep?  To  our  blindness,  these 
things  seem  unaffecting.  We  make  fables  to 
hide  the  baldness  of  the  fact  and  conform  it,  as 
we  say,  to  the  higher  law  of  the  mind.  But 
when  the  fact  is  seen  under  the  light  of  an  idea, 
the  gaudy  fable  fades  and  shrivels.  We  behold 
the  real  higher  law.  To  the  wise,  therefore,  a 


PROSPECTS.  93 

fact  is  true  poetry,  and  the  most  beautiful  of  fables. 
These  wonders  are  brought  to  our  own  door. 
You  also  are  a  man.  Man  and  woman,  and  their 
social  life,  poverty,  labor,  sleep,  fear,  fortune, 
are  known  to  you.  Learn  that  none  of  these 
things  is  superficial,  but  that  each  phenomenon 
hath  its  roots  in  the  faculties  and  affections  of 
the  mind.  Whilst  the  abstract  question  occu 
pies  your  intellect,  nature  brings  it  in  the  con 
crete  to  be  solved  by  your  hands.  It  were  a 
wise  inquiry  for  the  closet,  to  compare,  point  by 
point,  especially  at  remarkable  crises  in  life, 
our  daily  history,  with  the  rise  and  progress  of 
ideas  in  the  mind. 

So  shall  we  come  to  look  at  the  world  with 
new  eyes.  It  shall  answer  the  endless  inquiry 
of  the  intellect, — What  is  truth?  and  of  the 
affections,  —  What  is  good?  by  yielding  itself 
passive  to  the  educated  Will.  Then  shall  come 
to  pass  what  my  poet  said ;  '  Nature  is  not  fixed 
but  fluid.  Spirit  alters,  moulds,  makes  it.  The 
immobility  or  bruteness  of  nature,  is  the  absence 
of  spirit ;  to  pure  spirit,  it  is  fluid,  it  is  volatile, 
8 


92  ^PROSPECTS. 

it  is  obedient.  Every  spirit  builds  itself  a  house; 
and  beyond  its  house,  a  world;  and  beyond  its 
world,  a  heaven.  Know  then,  that  the  world 
exists  for  you.  For  you  is  the  phenomenon  per 
fect.  What  we  are,  that  only  can  we  see.  All 
that  Adam  had,  all  that  Caesar  could,  you  have 
and  can  do.  Adam  called  his  house,  heaven  and 
earth ;  Caesar  called  his  house,  Rome;  you  per 
haps  call  yours,  a  cobler's  trade  ;  a  hundred 
acres  of  ploughed  land ;  or  a  scholar's  garret. 
Yet  line  for  line  and  point  for  point,  your  domin 
ion  is  as  great  as  theirs,  though  without  fine 
names.  Build,  therefore,  your  own  world.  As 
fast  as  you  conform  your  life  to  the  pure  idea  in 
your  mind,  that  will  unfold  its  great  proportions. 
A  correspondent  revolution  in  things  will  attend 
the  influx  of  the  spirit.  So  fast  will  disagreea 
ble  appearances,  swine,  spiders,  snakes,  pests, 
mad-houses,  prisons,  enemies,  vanish ;  they  are 
temporary  and  shall  be  no  more  seen.  The 
sordor  and  filths  of  nature,  the  sun  shall  dry  up, 
and  the  wind  exhale.  As  when  the  summer 
comes  from  the  south,  the  snow-banks  melt,  and 


PROSPECTS.  95 

the  face  of  the  earth  becomes  green  before  it, 
so  shall  the  advancing  spirit  create  its  orna 
ments  along  its  path,  and  carry  with  it  the 
beauty  it  visits,  and  the  song  which  enchants  it ; 
it  shall  draw  beautiful  faces,  and  warm  hearts, 
and  wise  discourse,  and  heroic  acts,  around  its 
way,  until  evil  is  no  more  seen.  The  kingdom  of 
man  over  nature,  which  cometh  not  with  obser 
vation,  —  a  dominion  such  as  now  is  beyond  his 
dream  of  God,  —  he  shall  enter  without  more 
wonder  than  the  blind  man  feels  who  is  gradu 
ally  restored  to  perfect  sight.' 


PS  I  L 


